CHAPTER XI
THE FIRST BREAK
"Say, where in the name of Diogenes's lantern have you been, Tom?"
"Yes, come in you musty old deserter, and give an account of yourself. You've been away so long that you must have forgotten the countersign."
"It was a girl, fellows—I can smell the perfumery!"
Thus Sid, Phil and Frank greeted the advent of our hero into the common room, soon after he had left Boswell. Tom's brain had been so busy with so many thoughts, after the sight of that torn handkerchief, that he had eaten scarcely any supper, though his appetltie just before that had been of the best.
"Shove over; can't you?" was all Tom said to Phil, who was stretched out on the old sofa.
"Sure I can. What's the matter? Got a grouch!"
"No, but I'm dead tired."
"Be careful how you flop," warned Sid, as he watched with anxiety Tom's preparations to sit down. "That sofa doesn't gain strength with age—it isn't like cheese in that respect."
"Where were you?" asked Phil, as Tom managed to find a resting place without bringing forth from the sofa more than a protesting groan, and a series of squeaks.
"Ruth and I were out for a row," said Tom shortly, knowing that the truth would out sooner or later, and having nothing to conceal.
"Oh, ho!" exclaimed Sid.
"Where'd you go?" asked Phil, with brotherly interest.
"Crest Island. That's what kept me so long. I got her home in good season though, and rowed slow the rest of the way."
"Crest Island!" exclaimed Frank. "Did you find any more clues, Tom?"
The tall pitcher hesitated. He was in two minds about what had taken place that afternoon. Should he tell his chums the secret he thought he had discovered, and get their opinions in working it out? Or should he play a lone hand? A moment's thought convinced him. He would tell all—that is, all save Ruth's secret. That he had no right to divulge.
"Well?" asked Frank, as his chum hesitated. "Did you find anything, Tom?"
"I sure did, fellows," and he tossed on the table the card of Boswell, and the strands of silk. For a moment no one spoke, and then Sid, picking up the card remarked:
"This looks suspicious, Tom. Did you and Bossy quarrel over a girl, and go to Crest Island to have a duel? It begins to look that way—exchanging cards and all that."
"We didn't exchange cards," said Tom shortly. "I found that card near a shack where a caretaker lives. And, by the way, fellows, we're going to camp on Crest Island this Summer."
"We are?" cried Phil.
"I like the nice, easy way he has of laying out our vacation plans for us," remarked Sid.
"Just as if he was our manager," added Frank,
"Well, I only thought it would be handy if we want to practice rowing," went on Tom, holding back the other reason. "We could get a boat, and drop down to college here every day or so, take out the shell and have a spin. If we want to beat Boxer Hall we've got to do some tall hustling, and practice like all get-out!"
"Oh, I fancy I can practice rowing on Crystal Lake, where our folks intend taking a cottage," said Sid. "No Crest Island for mine!"
"The girls are going to cottage there," went on Tom, with a fine appearance of indifference. "Madge Tyler's folks have a neat little shack there, and Ruth, Helen and Mabel are going to spend some time with her."
"They are!" cried Frank.
"Why didn't you say so at first?" asked Sid, indignantly.
"I—er—I guess I can fix it to camp there," spoke Phil, just as if he had never intended spending his vacation at any other place.
"Oh, you fellows were so sure you knew your own business that I didn't want to butt in," went on the pitcher. "But, boys, what do you think of that?" and he indicated the card and silk.
"It's the same material," spoke Frank after a bit, as he compared the shreds Tom had pulled from the window-sill of the shack on the island, with the torn strip found near the looted jewelry box.
"And what would you say if I told you that Bossy had a handkerchief of that same pattern, with a strip torn off?" asked Tom, slowly. "
Has he?" asked Frank, looking sharply at his chum.
"He has."
"Then, by crimps! He's the fellow who has the cups and jewelry!" cried Sid.
"Go easy," advised Phil. "That's the worst of you—always jumping to conclusions."
"And why shouldn't I, when I can land on 'em as easily as I can on this one? Isn't it as plain as can be?"
"Not altogether. We'd make fine specimens of ourselves if we went and accused him on this evidence. You say, Tom, that you found this card near the Mexican's shack?"
"Yes. And the shreds of silk there, too. It looks to me as if Bossy had been there to buy a handkerchief. Two of 'em, if we're to believe him. The Mexican probably has them as well as his 'push-work' as he calls it," and he told all the circumstances of the visit to the island, omitting only the search for Ruth's brooch.
"I guess that part is right," admitted Frank. "I mean about Bossy going there to buy one of these gay handkerchiefs. But just because he did doesn't make him guilty. In fact, what object would he have in taking some trophy cups that he could get very little for if they were melted up, and nothing for, if he tried to sell them as they were? No one would buy them, for on the face of them they show what they are. Some were engraved with the Boxer Hall fellows' names. And the other jewelry wasn't so very valuable. Bossy wouldn't have any object in taking that. He's got more money now, than is good for him."
"He might have been gambling, and gotten short of cash, and been afraid of asking his folks," suggested Sid, remembering an ordeal he had gone through in having a relative under similar circumstances, as I related in "Batting to Win."
"I don't believe it," declared Frank. "To my mind I'd sooner suspect this Mendez. He seems a fishy sort of character."
"Oh, I think he's straight," declared Tom. "I made some inquiries about him while I was having grub. It seems some of the fellows here have been buying stuff of him—last year when he was traveling around the country. He bears a good reputation, and Hendell's father, who owns part of Crest Island, was telling me that the property owners looked up his record well before they let him succeed old Jake Blasdell as caretaker."
"Hum!" mused Frank. "It doesn't look as easy as it did at first, in spite of these clues, Tom."
"That's right. Say, I'm not as much of a detective as I thought. I wonder if that jeweler could be double-crossing us?"
"What do you mean?" asked Sid.
"I mean could he have lost the box of jewelry overboard before his boat was carried away by the flood? If he did, he could make up the story that he left it in the locker, and that someone else got it when the boat was wrecked."
"That's possible, though not probable," admitted Frank. "Fellows, my advice is that we put these things away, and forget all about them to-night. In the morning we may see matters clearer. I've got to do some boning anyhow. Put 'em away, Tom."
Soon only the ticking of the fussy, little alarm clock was heard, mingled with the rattle of paper as books were leafed or as the lads wrote out their lessons. Even the clock stopped after a bit, and the sudden silence was so startling that Phil exclaimed:
"She's run down! Hope nothing's the matter with her," and he picked up the timepiece with an anxious face.
"Probably got toothpickitis," suggested Tom. "Give it a shake."
Phil did so, with the result that a piece of toothpick did fall out, and then the clock went on ticking again.
"That's better," sighed Phil, though often he had objected to the incessant noise. "It would be like loosing an old friend If that went back on us."
He settled into the depths of one of the old armchairs, Sid being in another, while Frank, who had succeeded to the sofa stretched out luxuriously on that, having ousted Tom, who, on a stool drawn up to the table, was making an ancient war map that was to be used in class the next day.
Morning brought no clearer view to the puzzling problem of the clues to the missing jewelry, and, having all agreed to keep silent about the matter, the lads laid aside the articles and hurried to chapel. In the several days that followed nothing new in that line developed.
There came several baseball contests, in which Tom and his chums distinguished themselves. The long vacation was approaching, and more or less "boning" had to be done if the lads intended to pass their examinations. All these things, with the rowing practice, kept them busy so that Tom, as was the case with the others, had little chance to see the girls.
The other second-hand rowing craft were made good use of, and those who were to go in the four were practically picked. So were the singles and doubles, though of course a change might be made in the Fall, when new material would come to Randall.
All eyes, and most of the interest, however, was on and in the eight. On this Randall built her hopes of becoming champion of the river and lake league. Though when word came of the fast time made by Boxer Hall and Fairview in their practice spins, there were doubtful shakes of the head, for Randall was nowhere near as good.
Then came the annual Boxer Hall-Fairview races. It was about an even thing between the two colleges, until it came time for the eight-oared contest. There was even a tub race, and the boys at Randall decided to have one when it came time for them to take part in the regatta.
But Boxer won the eight with ease over Fairview, and when Mr. Lighton, who with most of those who had practiced in Randall's big shell, witnessed the exciting finish, he shook his head.
"We've got to do some tall hustling," he remarked, "and make some changes. I'll start in on them to-morrow."
There was a larger number than usual at practice on Sunny River the next day. All Randall seemed to be at the boathouse. Adjoining the old one a start had already been made on erecting the new structure, presented by the alumni. Word had been received that the new shells would be ready in ample time for the Fall races.
"Young men!" exclaimed Coach Lighton, as the eight was slipped into the water, "I'm going to make some radical changes in the crew, and I want none of you to feel sore, because, you know, it is for the good of the college. We have not been rowing well, of late, and there are several faults to correct. The boat hangs a bit, and is a trifle heavy by the stern. She drags. I know one reason for this, it is my own weight, and so I am going to suggest that you now try one of yourselves as coxswain. I am a little too "beefy" for the place.
"Jerry Jackson, you take the tiller ropes. You've had more practice than any of the others, and you're too light to hope to be at the oars."
"All right," agreed Jerry, cheerfully. After all it was an honor to steer the eight.
"Simpson, you'll stay at stroke, and, Parsons, I'm going to send you back a bit. No offence, but you're not quite quick enough in picking up the stroke. I think it's your baseball arm that's at fault. Molloy, you take Parsons' place, and Tom will go number three. From three, Henderson will go to bow. He's about the right weight for there when we get Jackson in as coxswain. And, Jerry, you'll want to shift your seat a bit aft, to make up for the extra weight they've been carrying in me. That will make a good change, I think."
There was some murmuring over the changes, and obviously nearly all were pleased. Molloy especially, for he had been fretting lest he be kept out of the eight. As for Tom he was rather glad, on the whole, that he did not have the responsibility of picking up Frank's stroke, for it was a responsibility, and it was telling on him. He had begun to realize that his baseball pitching had made him a bit awkward in one arm.
"Say, where do I come in?" suddenly asked Boswell. "I was at bow, and now—I'm nowhere, Mr. Lighton."
"I'll work you in another crew, Boswell," said the coach, sharply.
"But I want to be in the varsity."
"This isn't the varsity any more than any other collection of eight rowers is. The varsity isn't picked yet, and won't be until the Fall."
"Well, this looks very much like the varsity to me," sneered Boswell. "All the fellows in it are on the varsity nine"
"That'll do you!" said the coach, snappily.
"Then I'm not to row at bow?"
"Not in this eight."
"Then I don't row at all!" and, with a fierce glance at the selected rowers, the rich lad turned sharply and walked off to the dressing rooms.
"The first break," murmured Tom.
"Take your places," spoke the coach, quietly. "I'm going to follow you in the launch. Jackson, make 'em do as you tell 'em!"