CHAPTER XIX
SUSPICIONS
"Has anyone seen my hammer?"
"Where the mischief did I put those nails?"
"Hey, Tom, give us a hand setting this joist, will you?"
"I say, Phil, should this two-by-four go in with the big side out, or the narrow?"
"Simpson, look out, or you'll saw my finger. You're too close to me."
"Wow! Ouch!" and Holly Cross dropped the hatchet he was using in place of a hammer, and held his thumb in his mouth. "Jerusalem crickets!" he cried, "I'll never be able to practice football if I keep on this way!"
There was a riot of sounds: hammering, planing, and chiseling, and sawing; and, mingled with them, the clatter of the lads' voices, in entreaties, commands, appeals for help, asking for advice, or, as Holly's was, raised in agony over some misdirected blow.
Work on rebuilding the grandstand was in full swing. On examination of the wrecked structure after the storm, it was found that nearly all the material in it could be used over again. All the new lumber that would be needed would be some heavy joists, to take the place of those broken in the collapse.
They were quite expensive to buy, but a lumber dealer who heard of the boys' plight agreed to let them have the timber, and to wait as long as they liked for his pay. He even furnished a couple of men to raise the heavy pieces into place, and the boys voted him a first-class "sport," and sent him a season complimentary ticket to all the games.
It was not as easy as it sounds, nor as simple as the boys had expected, to rebuild the structure, but they went at it with hearty good will, and a determination, in the path of which nothing could stand. The several janitors gave them all the aid they could, but the boys did most of the work, after they were told just how to do it.
Frank Simpson was of great help, for he was probably the strongest and biggest lad in college, and the way he could shoulder a beam, and walk off with it to where it was needed in the work was something to look at and admire.
"But you fellows needn't stop work to watch Frank," said Tom Parsons, who, because of his knowledge of carpentry, and because he had proposed the scheme, was, by common consent, made a sort of foreman. "Get busy, and do some of the lifting yourselves," he advised.
"I say, Tom," demanded Sid, "what makes these boards split every time I try to nail them on these four-by-fours? I must be a hoodoo, for I've split half a dozen."
"Those aren't four-by-fours," declared Tom. "They're two-by-fours, or scantling, and there are a lot of reasons why you split the boards."
"Give me one, and I'll be satisfied."
"Well, you're using cut nails, and you ought to use wire ones there, as the boards are old and dry. Then you have to nail so close to the edge that they split easier than they would if you could put the nails nearer the middle. But use wire nails.
"You mean those round ones?"
"Yes. The cut nails are those black, squareheaded ones, and when you do use them, drive 'em with the widest part of the end at right angles to the grain of the wood."
"What's that, a lesson in geometry, young gentlemen?" asked a voice, and the students turned quickly, to observe President Churchill observing them with an amused smile."
"No, sir," answered Sid, "Tom was telling me how to drive nails."
"Ah, yes, a very useful accomplishment, I believe," remarked the doctor. "Though I never could do it without hitting my thumb. A very useful accomplishment, very."
He looked at the grandstand, which was nearing completion, and, as he passed on, with a book of Sanskrit under his arm, he remarked:
"You are doing very well, young gentlemen—very well. Randall has reason to be proud of her resourceful students."
"Prexy looks worried," remarked Sid, as the good doctor passed on out of hearing.
"Yes, I shouldn't wonder but what that legal business is bothering him," admitted Tom. "It's a blamed shame it had to happen, but it's just like the Langridge breed to want to stir up trouble. Now, Sid, put plenty of nails in when you fasten two scantling together, and use the big cut ones. We don't want this stand to come down with a lot of pretty girls on it."
"I should say not!" and Sid plied his hammer with renewed energy, as though to prevent any such catastrophe.
Tom went on with what he was doing, on another part of the stand, until he was called by Frank Simpson, who wanted his opinion on a certain point.
"I think if we run these cross-pieces the other way," suggested the big Californian, "it will brace the stand better."
"So do I," agreed Tom, after an examination. "Go ahead, do it that way, Frank. Want any help getting that beam up?"
"No, I can do it alone." Which the strong lad did, to Tom's admiration.
And thus the building work went on. True, not every joint was as even as regular carpenters would have made them, and a number of boards were sawed very crookedly, but this did not interfere with the strength of the stand, and little was cared for looks in the emergency.
President Churchill was not taking any chances, however, and he privately sent for an architect friend of his, who examined the rebuilt structure, and assured the worried doctor that it was perfectly safe.
Record time was made with the task, for three hundred willing lads can accomplish wonders, even if they lack the training of a trade. As the date for the Canton game approached, it was seen that the stand would be very nearly finished on time. It was necessary to stop work sometimes to get in football practice, but the boys were developing unused muscles, and hardening others by their labors, so that they were in fine physical trim.
"It's the best thing that could have happened," said Holly Cross to Captain Woodhouse, at the close of work one afternoon. "We'll wipe the ground up with Canton."
"Well, we ought to," declared Dan.
"Don't be so sure," retorted Mr. Lighton; "they have a pretty good team."
"Ours is improving," asserted Kindlings, proudly, and, in a measure, this was so, though there were still some weak places in the line.
It was within two days of the Canton game, and the boys were working eagerly to get the stand in shape. They had put in several nights on it, laboring in shifts, by the light of some flaming arc lamps rigged up by the college electrician.
Tom, in virtue of his position as foreman, was going about and doing as much as he could, when, as he passed near Phil, who was nailing down some of the seats, the quarter-back called to his chum:
"I say, Tom, when you have a chance just take a stroll over where that Lenton chap is working."
"You mean Henry Lenton—the freshman?"
"Yes, the chap who flocks by himself so much, and always seems to be tinkering with something in his room. See what he's doing?"
"Why; is he doing it wrong?"
"No, but you remember the queer key we found in our door that night?"
"Sure."
"Well, just think of that when you see what Lenton is doing."
Wondering what motive Phil could have, Tom did stroll over to where, down in the front part of the stand, the odd student was screwing some hinges on the doors of a row of boxes, the seats in which sold for higher prices than the ordinary ones. Lenton was a strange lad. He was bright in his studies, and his taste ran to matters scientific. He was eager in the physics and chemistry classes, and had made a number of ingenious machines and pieces of apparatus to illustrate the forces of nature.
As Tom approached he heard the shrill scraping of a file, and at once what Phil had said about the key came into his mind.
"I wonder what Lenton is filing?" thought the end. Not wishing to seem to sneak up on him, yet desiring to solve the mystery, if there was one, Tom called:
"What's the matter? Don't those hinges fit, Lenton?"
"Some of them do, and others don't," was the reply. "Or, rather, the hinges are all right, but the hasps that hold the doors shut aren't true. I have to file some."
"Oh," said Tom, and then he noticed that the lad had rigged up a small, portable iron vise on the rail near which he was working. The vise held a piece of metal, and this the lad was industriously filing.
As Tom noticed the manner in which Lenton handled the tools, working with files of several different sizes, the same suspicions that Phil had entertained came into his own mind. As for the files, Tom knew that none had been bought for use on the stand.
"Where did you get 'em?" he asked, picking up one.
"Oh, they're mine," answered Lenton. "I've got quite a few tools in my room," and then he drew the file back and forth over the metal, making such a noise that conversation was difficult. Tom watched him a few minutes, and then turned away.
"Phil was right," the end murmured. "There is something expert in the way he uses a file, and perhaps he did make the false key. We'll have to do some investigating."