The Grammar School Boys Snowbound

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"Was Fits the one who set fire to the cook shack?" asked another boy in
the crowd.

"I--er--I'm not going to tell you anything about that," retorted Hen,
trying to conceal his embarrassment under an air of mystery.

"But say, Hen," put in another boy, across the crowd, after winking at
Dick, "I really don't see how you could help being scared when you heard
those ghost noises the first time."

"Huh! Me? Scared?" responded Dutcher indignantly. "No, sir! Being scared
isn't in my line. But the other fellows were tremendously scared. I told
'em, again and again, that the noises were wholly human, and that we
hadn't any call to be afraid of any man who used his voice, instead of
his hands, against us."

"Was Dick Prescott much scared?" asked one of the auditors, with a
quick side glance at Dick.

"Was he?" repeated Hen. "Huh! But, after all, Tom Reade was the biggest
boo----"

Here Reade could control himself no longer. His deep chuckle broke on
the night air, causing Hen Dutcher to turn with a start.

"Go on, Hen!" Tom encouraged him. "Go on and tell all about it. I'll
admit that I was scared. So were all the rest of our crowd. I guess,
Hen, you really were the only brave one in the cabin when the blood
curdling noises broke loose on us and spoiled our night's sleep."

"Well, I wasn't scared, was I?" challenged Dutcher.

Hen's eye roved until it rested on Dick's face.

"I don't know whether you were, or not," Prescott replied soberly. "I
had too much of my own alarm on hand to notice just how you were
acting."

"Well, I wasn't scared," Hen asserted vehemently. "And I'd like to see
any one dare to say that I was."

"How did you come to get invited with Dick's crowd, anyway?" asked Hoof
Sadby.

"I wasn't--just exactly--invited," hesitated Hen Dutcher. "But I was
going through the forest when the big snowstorm came up, and----"

"And you made Prescott's crowd invite you into the cabin?" pressed Spoff
Henderson.

"Ye-es," claimed Hen reluctantly.

"What have you got to say about all this yarn, Dick Prescott?" called
Wrecker Lane.

"Why, from all we've heard," Dick answered dryly, "I don't see any need
of adding anything to Hen's story of events. He seems capable of telling
all about it himself."

"And Hen really was brave when Mr. Fits was around?"

"He says so, doesn't he?" inquired Dick.

Several laughs answered this question, and Hen began to fidget.

"I wonder what has become of Fits, anyway?" suggested Ned Allen.

"We saw him here in Gridley, not ten minutes ago," broke in Dave Darrin.
"We notified the police, too."

"Is that right?" demanded a dozen boys at once.

"Yes," nodded Dick.

"And Fits knocked Dick down," said Harry Hazelton, "but," continued he,
"maybe it was that Dutcher boy that he was really looking for."

Hen's face became very pallid and his jaw dropped. He didn't look the
hero that he had been claiming to be a minute before. Most of the boys
in the crowd began to laugh.

"I've a good mind to tell the crowd that Hen really came out to the
forest to help Fred Ripley's crew against us," whispered Harry in
Prescott's ear.

"Don't you do it," Dick warned him sternly. "We don't have to blab. Give
Hen Dutcher a little time and he'll let it all out himself, without
meaning to do it."

"Sa-ay, weren't--weren't you stringing me about--Mr. Fits?" Hen
questioned.

"Say, you fellows--hustle!" breathed Greg excitedly, as he joined the
crowd. "There's Mr. Fits over at the corner opposite. There--he's
turning and running down Abbott Street!"

Like a shot the crowd of boys wheeled and was off in chase. But Hen
didn't go with them. Toby Ross, who brought up the rear, saw young
Dutcher turn and speed homeward as fast as his legs would carry him.

CHAPTER XXIII

"THIS TIME IS AS GOOD AS ANY OTHER"

"There he is!" breathed Greg, who ran with the foremost rank of pursuing
boys, as they turned into Abbott Street.

A policeman saw the commotion and ran fast after the crowd of
youngsters. As the officer caught up with Ross he found out that they
were "chasing Fits."

Though the man ahead ran rapidly, the foremost boys gradually overtook
him. The policeman, too, was well in the front of the running.

Then the fugitive stumbled and fell to the ground. He sat up, but made
no further move to get away.

"I may as well give meself up," remarked the recent fugitive resignedly.
"The law is always sure to git a feller."

"Why, this isn't Mr. Fits!" ejaculated Dick and Greg in the same accent
of disgust.

"Who's going to gimme fits?" demanded the man, looking stupidly about
him, while the crowd circled him and the policeman peered down into his
face. "Who's going to gimme fits, I ask? Will it be Jack Ryan?"

"This fellow is Dock Breslin, a teamster," muttered the policeman
disgustedly. "Who said it was the thief that the chief wants so badly?"

"I--I thought it was, when I saw him," stammered Greg Holmes, rather
abashed now. "He's the same build as Fits, and looked like him at a
distance. And this man, Breslin, was peering around the corner and
acting suspiciously. He ran away, too, when we started after him."

"I'll go with ye, peaceable like," promised Dock Breslin, getting upon
his feet and addressing the blue coated one. "'Twas Jack himself swore
out the warrant, I suppose."

"What warrant?" demanded the policeman.

"Didn't he swear out one?" insisted Breslin.

"Who?"

"Jack Ryan. 'Twas meself that gave Ryan a big wallopin' this afternoon,
all on account of a bit of a dispute we had. Jack swore he'd be even
with me, and I heard he'd sworn out a warrant against me," explained
Breslin, who had the air of one stupidly rejoicing that his suspense was
ended.

"I heard of no warrant for you, Dock, when the night watch had the
orders read before we came out to-night," replied the policeman.

"Then Jack didn't do it?" demanded Breslin.

"If he did, he didn't let the police know about it," laughed the
policeman. "If there'd been a warrant against you, Dock, the orders
would have been read to the night watch at the station house. Did you
run from the boys because you thought there was a warrant against you?"

"I did," the teamster admitted.

"Then Jack Ryan will be laughing at you to-morrow," grinned the officer.
"Go home, Breslin, and behave yourself. Boys, you'd better scatter."

It was not long after that that Gridley Grammar School boys were at home
and in bed. By morning they were on the street again, as there was still
some of the holiday vacation left.

There was news, too, this morning. The Dodge house had been entered late
in the night, but the Dodge coachman, returning late, had caught sight
of a burglar near an open dining room window. In investigating more
closely the coachman had scared the burglar, who leaped from the window,
struck the coachman over the head, and then vanished. But the coachman's
description of his assailant tallied with the personal appearance of Mr.
Fits.

"Then the bold scoundrel is still operating in Gridley?" passed from
mouth to mouth. "What nerve!"

"The thief is likely to stay here for a night or two longer," the chief
of police warned business men along Main Street. "The truth appears to
be that the rascal whom the boys have named Mr. Fits is without funds to
get away. The loot that Dick & Co. found out at the camp was what the
scoundrel had expected to take away with him and sell. That stuff not
being in his possession, he must steal something else on which to raise
money before he can go far from here."

"Why doesn't the rascal try some other town, then, where he's not as
well known?" inquired Mr. Dodge.

"Because he has houses that he and his confederates, now locked up in
jail, had spotted for robbery," replied the police chief. "Burglars
don't usually enter a house until they've looked it well over and know
just about what they expect to find. I'll have all my men alert
to-night, and well to do people will do well to be on the lookout, too.
As soon as this 'Mr. Fits' gets loot enough he'll probably leave
Gridley."

That same forenoon Dick, Dave and Tom, acting as a self-appointed
committee, called on Lawyer Ripley at that gentleman's office. They
thanked the lawyer for the use of the camp, and mentioned the burning
down of the cook shack.

Hardly had they begun to speak when Fred Ripley sauntered into his
father's office. Silently Fred stepped over to a part of the office that
lay behind his father's back.

"How did the fire happen?" inquired the lawyer. "Some of you young men
just a bit frisky and careless?"

Fred, from behind his father, scowled at the three Grammar School boys.
It was plain enough that he dreaded having his father told the truth.
Nor did Dick and his chums want to tell if it could be avoided. They had
all of a schoolboy's aversion to carrying tales.

"No, sir; it wasn't carelessness on the part of any of our party,"
Prescott answered truthfully.

"Oh, well, it doesn't matter, at any rate," the lawyer assured them.
"The whole camp is worth nothing in these days, and the shack was the
least valuable part of all. If it's burned down, then it's gone. Mrs.
Dexter wouldn't want any of you boys made uncomfortable over the affair
for a moment, so you needn't tell me another word about it. But the
cabin is still standing, and you may want to use it again. As Mrs.
Dexter's attorney and agent, I offer you the use of it at any time when
you please. You needn't even come to ask my permission. The use of the
cabin belongs solely to you boys, and it's yours at any time without
asking."

Dick & Co. took their leave promptly, and Fred escaped, for the time
being, an investigation by his stern father.

"I hear that word is going around to the wealthy people in town to look
out for Mr. Fits to-night," remarked Tom, as the trio of Grammar School
boys returned to the street.

"That lets our families out," laughed Dick.

"Are you so very sure of that?" Dave inquired. "Fits might pay one of
our homes a visit by way of revenge--yours, for instance, Dick."

"I don't believe he'll do it, just for revenge," Prescott replied, with
a shake of his head. "Fits is probably superstitious, and he has most
likely come to the conclusion that he runs to bad luck in pursuing our
crowd. All of his ill luck, and that of his confederates, now in jail,
has come through bothering us."

"Don't be too sure that you won't have another visit from the rascal,"
warned Tom. "Dick, Mr. Fits knows you're the leader of our crowd, and
that's why he'll single out your house, if any, for a visit of revenge."

"I'd like to stay awake and see," smiled Dick. "Yet I'm almost certain
that I'd fall into a sound doze before midnight."

During the day there were a lot of the Central Grammar School boys to be
met, and each one had to have some account of the wonderful snowbound
days. By evening Dick had very nearly forgotten the possible danger from
Mr. Fits.

After supper Dave sauntered into the Prescott store.

"Dan wasn't out to-day," Dave announced. "At least, if he was, he failed
to see any of us. Let's walk down to his house and see if anything is
wrong with him."

Dick agreeing, the two chums turned down a dark side street on their way
to Dalzell's.

At the darkest point on the street the two boys had to pass a collection
of shanty like buildings, which contained a contractor's offices, a
junk-shop, a second hand dealer's storehouse and a big stable in which
the contractor's work-horses were kept.

"These old rookeries will go by when Gridley real estate gets to be just
a little more valuable," grunted Dave, as he picked his way gingerly in
the darksome spot.

"It's really a disgrace to the town, this place," replied Dick. "Hullo!
Who's moving there? O-o-oh--say!"

They were just at the head of the narrow alley-way leading down to the
stable. Up this alley-way a man had been picking his prowling way in the
dark. At the hail from Dick Prescott the man turned, as though to glide
back into the shadow.

But now, suddenly, the fellow wheeled like a flash and bounded into the
path of the two Grammar School boys.

"I reckon this time will be as good as any other!" announced Mr. Fits,
with an ugly laugh that showed his fang like teeth.

CHAPTER XXIV

CONCLUSION

"Jupiter! But we've got you!" flared Dave Darrin.

"Have you?" retorted Mr. Fits sarcastically. "Hold me tight, then. But
this is a lucky meeting for me. I can settle all the old scores with you
two. Yell, if you think it will bring any help to you."

"We know better," replied Dick coolly, though he was tingling inside.
"We've got to handle you ourselves."

"Get busy at handling me, then," leered Mr. Fits. "Prescott, I'm going
to begin by handling you in a way that'll make Darrin run."

"Don't you believe it!" retorted Dave angrily. "I may be killed, but I
promise you that I won't run except to chase you, you ugly brute!"

"We'll see!" chuckled the wretch.

With that he reached out for Dick, who was standing his ground. Just
then a lithe figure shot in between the boys and their promised
assailant.

"Stand back, you hound!" ordered the newcomer angrily. "This is a matter
for men. You and I will attend to each other!"

"Old Dut!" breathed Dick Prescott in the intensity of his astonishment.

"Yes, it's I," announced the principal of the Central Grammar coolly.
"This is more in my line."

Mr. Fits had been pushed back from the spot by the energetic fist of Mr.
E. Dutton Jones. But now the brute came back, cautiously, crouching and
leering.

"Who are you, anyway!" demanded Mr. Fits.

"Oh, I'm one of the town's schoolmasters," replied Old Dut dryly. "As
for you, I imagine you're that doubtful celebrity, Mr. Fits--otherwise a
thief."

"Get out of this!" warned the rascal darkly. "This is no place for
schoolmasters."

"On the contrary," retorted Old Dut, as coolly as before, "this is just
the proper place for me, for I've appointed myself to teach you a
lesson, my man. Throw off your overcoat, I don't want to take you
unfairly."

As Old Dut spoke he "shucked" his own coat, tossing it to the curb.

"Wait, Mr. Jones, and we'll get a policeman," urged Dick.

"Wait and see how badly I'm going to need one," returned the
schoolmaster.

"This affair is none of your business," growled Mr. Fits.

"Yes, it is!" insisted the principal of Central Grammar. "You were going
to attack two of my boys. If you'll go along peaceably to the police
station with me, then I'll let you off from a thrashing. But don't try
to run away, for I warn you that I've kept up fairly well the sprinting
of my old college days."

"I won't go with you, and I won't run," uttered Mr. Fits defiantly.

"Then get off your coat, for I'm going to start in," Old Dut warned the
wretch.

Something in the schoolmaster's eye and voice told Fits that he would do
well to get himself in trim at once. Off came his hat and coat.

"Look out, you ferrule-tosser!" jeered Mr. Fits, and led off with one
fist after the other.

It had often been remarked, in undertones by Grammar School boys, that
Old Dut was fine at thrashing boys, but that it would be different if he
had a man of his own size to tackle.

Right now Dick Prescott and Dave Darrin were treated to a sight that
they never forgot. In point of size Old Dut was somewhat over-matched.
At the same time his opponent was a younger man. Yet it looked like a
battle of giants. For some moments Old Dut had all he could do to hold
his own. He took severe punishment, but gave back the same kind. Then,
all of a sudden, Fits showed signs of wanting to get away. But Mr. E.
Dutton Jones followed him up persistently, and at last a hard blow
stretched the thief on the ground.

"Don't try to get up," Old Dut warned the fellow, "until I announce that
I am ready for you."

With that the principal put on his coat once more, while Dave, with a
very respectful air, passed the principal's hat.

"Now, you may get up," nodded Old Dut. "Put on your hat and coat."

Mr. Fits obeyed, next remarking whiningly:

"As you got the best of it, now I suppose you are ready to let me go."

"I never let a thief go, if I can help it," Old Dut retorted, gripping
one of the fellow's wrists. "We'll walk along together, my friend, until
we reach the police station. And woe unto you if you start anything
funny!"

So it happened that, within five minutes, Mr. Fits was turned over to
the members of a rejoicing police force. At the station house Mr. Fits
described himself more especially as being one John Clark. Whether that
was really his own name no one in Gridley ever found out.

Clark took his arrest philosophically enough. Now that he was behind
bars, with no help for his situation, he became almost goodnatured. Ere
long he admitted all of the charges against him. It was he who had
entered the Prescott flat and had taken away Dick's watch and the fan
intended for Dick's mother. Clark told freely how he and his
confederates had taken toll from the Christmas shoppers, confessing also
that they had had a number of houses "located" for burglary.

The prisoner told, also how he had found a megaphone in the little
"lumber loft" of the cook shack, and how, with this, he had improvised
the ghostly sounds. He had also found in that loft the snowshoes on
which he had escaped from Constable Dock.

Clark--Mr. Fits--went away to prison for a long term, and Gridley heard
no more about him. The recovered stolen property was turned over to the
owners after the trial. Dr. Bentley was so overjoyed at the recovery of
his prized heirloom watch that he presented each member of Dick & Co.,
except the leader, with a silver watch and chain. As Dick now had the
watch bought for him by his parents, he received from Dr. Bentley a
handsome pair of racing skates.

Mrs. Prescott wore her fan proudly the next time that she attended a
performance at the local opera house. Other Gridley folks whose property
had been recovered by the Grammar School boys were equally delighted.

The reader may be disappointed that Fred Ripley was not immediately
punished for his meanness to the young campers, but it may be remarked
in passing that fellows of Ripley's kind are always caught up with and
punished sooner or later.

* * * * *

Boys filed in from one coatroom, girls from another, at the stroke of
nine on the following Monday morning.

Tap! sounded a bell, and instantly the young people in their seats came
to order, hands folded on desks before them.

"Young ladies and gentlemen," began Old Dut, in his usual schoolmaster
tone, "I trust that you have all enjoyed your mid-winter vacation
immensely. I hope that you have brought back here refreshed bodies and
minds. Have you?"

"Yes, sir," came from all quarters of the schoolroom.

"The report cards given the pupils on the first of February will show
whether you have answered accurately or impulsively," continued the
principal. "I shall not expect too great performance from you this
morning, but I warn you all that I shall not be jovially inclined to
overlooking inattention or skylarking. Master Dalzell, were you
whispering?"

"No, sir," Dan answered truthfully.

"That is well. Any young man who has just spent many days communing
with grand old Nature should feel it beneath his dignity to whisper to
mere mortals. Master Hazelton, you are moving uneasily in your seat. Be
calm; you will not have to cook your own dinner to-day. Miss Bentley, it
is hardly fair to smile so knowingly. For aught of evidence that may be
presented, Master Hazelton may be a very excellent cook. Only his late
camping comrades really know--and I'm certain they won't expose him.
Attention! Turn to page 46 of your singing books."

After the singing exercises had been finished Old Dut announced:

"Master Reade and Miss Kimball will pass around with this composition
paper. Each member of the class will have twenty minutes in which he
will write a brief but interesting description of something that he saw,
and which impressed him, during the vacation just closed."

Then, for some minutes, all was quiet save the scratching of pens
through the room. Yet Old Dut, expert reader of pupils' eyes and
glances, presently cast a bombshell by declaring in his dryest tone:

"Any pupil who writes anything believed to be funny will be required to
explain before the class just what he considers the joke to be. He will
then also be required to laugh three times at his own joke."

Here we will leave the Grammar School boys--and girls--for the present.
However, we shall catch up with them again in the next volume in this
series, which deals with spring sports, adventures and mysteries, and
with a jolly good round of all the phases of public school life that
interest young readers. This next volume is published under the title,
"THE GRAMMAR SCHOOL BOYS IN THE WOODS; Or, Dick & Co. Trail Fun and
Knowledge."

THE END

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