CHAPTER IV

A CALL FOR HELP

"I'm going down to Mr. Blake's room a minute," said Henry when Jack and his new room-mate had departed. "I sha'n't be gone long."

"All right," replied Ward, as he turned to talk with the younger Pond, who had remained as if he had something he wished to speak about. "Well, Pond," he added, after he had seated himself near him, "how do you like Weston?"

"I think I shall like it after I've become better acquainted. Of course, I've heard my brother tell so many things about it, that it doesn't seem exactly like a new place to me. And he's told so many things too about the boys, that it almost seems to me as if I had always known them."

"I'm afraid you haven't always heard good things then, if he's told you about the boys. I'm sure the list of good things wouldn't be very long in my case."

"He told me he liked you better than any boy in the school," said young Pond eagerly. "I never heard him say one word against you, except that you didn't work very hard. He declared he never would have been able to lead the class if you had put in half the time he did, on your studies."

"That's kind of him," said Ward laughingly, although he was touched by the evident earnestness of the boy before him. "Is this the first time you've ever been away from home?"

"Yes. And I fear I'm going to be homesick too."

"Oh, you mustn't mind that!" said Ward as philosophically as if such feelings were an every-day matter in his life. "You'll get over that all right."

"That's what my brother said. And he told me too, that I should need some one to look after me a bit and help to keep me out of the clutches of the 'Tangs,' or some such things. I don't know just what he meant, only he said if I would come to you, that you would help me till he came back next term."

For a moment Ward was silent. The "Tangs" had not once been mentioned during the summer, and both Henry and Jack had been silent concerning them. But Ward, although he did not know what course Jack would follow, had decided that for himself safety lay only in breaking with them. But his heart was not entirely free from fears or misgivings when he thought of the possible consequences for himself. And here was Pond's younger brother coming to him with the utmost confidence for protection against the very boys whom he most feared himself. He glanced again at the lad before him. What a slight, delicate little fellow he was. And yet what a bright, eager expression he had. He would have no difficulty in his classes; Ward felt certain of that; but what would he do if the boys began to trouble him?

"You come to me, Pond, whenever you're in trouble, and I'll do my best for you," he finally said, unable to resist the unspoken as well as the spoken appeal of the slight boy before him.

"Thank you! Thank you!" replied Pond, rising from his chair and departing just as Henry returned.

It was late on the following morning when Ward and Henry started to go to the dining hall, and they met many of the boys who already had eaten their breakfast. Ward secretly felt relieved at the fact, for the meeting with the boys was what troubled him most. He had been in trouble when the preceding year had closed, and unpopularity was something of which Ward Hill stood in greater fear than of anything else. How he would be received now was the constantly pressing question, but its solution would soon come, for "chapel" would bring all the boys together, and he would not long be left in doubt as to his position among his fellows then.

The chapel bell was ringing when Ward and Henry hastily left the Hall, or "hash house" as the building was commonly known, and they hastened back to their rooms to secure their books before they ran swiftly up the walk which led to the chapel. Even then there was the usual delay on the part of some of the students, and Jack Hobart was leading a band of delinquents as the bell began to give out the sharp short strokes that indicated the end of its summons.

"String out there! String out, you fellows!" called Jack, as he caught sight of Ward and Henry, meanwhile striving hard to button his collar and adjust his tie.

This time Ward understood the meaning of the hail far better than when he had first heard it in the preceding year, and ceasing to run, he approached the building more slowly, thus giving Jack and the other delinquents an opportunity to overtake them and secure their seats before the bell ceased to be rung and the doors were closed.

Their seats now were in the section which belonged to the seniors. Last year how he had looked up to the boys who occupied these seats. Ned Butler was there then, and others whom Ward had deeply respected. Was any one looking up to him as he had looked up to that marvelous class which had been graduated in the preceding June? Just then he caught a glimpse of young Pond, who was evidently far from feeling at his ease in the midst of the strange scene.

But Dr. Gray then arose and the low murmur which had filled the chapel became hushed as the exercises were begun. Then followed a talk from the doctor concerning the work of the year which lay before them, and Ward could not repress a smile as Jack Hobart looked solemnly at him and held up four fingers of one hand, thereby indicating that this was the fourth occasion on which he had listened to the same "lecture" from the good old man. However, the words were well worthy of repetition and Ward was soon interested and listened attentively. Directions were given the new boys concerning the rooms and places in which they were to report, and then each class was told what was to be expected of it on that day, and the boys arose and started toward the doors. Ward now knew that the testing time had come, and he would soon understand just what he had to expect from his old companions. Summoning all his resolution as he passed out, he saw Tim Pickard standing with a group of boys, and at once turned and approached him holding out his hand and endeavoring to appear calm and indifferent.

"Hello, Tim. Glad to see you back again."

Tim Pickard turned and looked insolently at Ward. There was not a gleam of recognition or pleasure expressed upon his face. He looked at Ward just a moment and then, ignoring the outstretched hand and the salutation alike, he turned again to the boys before him and resumed his conversation with them.

Ward's face flushed crimson, and at first he felt as if he could not control the feeling of anger which surged up in his heart. Who was Tim Pickard, that he should treat him in such a manner? Had he not been expelled from the school? Did not every fellow in the school know just what he was? Had any one forgotten the escapades of the coarse-fibred boy? Ward's heart sank quickly, however, when he thought of his own record in the preceding year. If Dr.. Gray was willing to receive Tim Pickard back into the school for another trial, who was he to complain? And how much better after all was he than Tim?

Ward caught the words "sneak" and "bootlick," which Tim had uttered as he had turned again to his companions, and realized then just what he would have to face. Tim Pickard's anger, the enmity of the "Tangs," and a series of petty annoyances which would be bound to follow him now perhaps all through the school year, must be met.

It seemed to the troubled boy as if every one in his class was against him, for he received but a friendly nod or a slight recognition as he hurried into the Latin room and took his old familiar place. Jack already was in the chair next to his and Ward at once perceived from the expression on his face that he was aware of the state of the feeling in the school.

"Never mind, Ward," he whispered, as his classmate took his seat; "just you keep in mind what I told you about the condition of your vertebrae, and the region of your upper lip. It'll all come out right."

To do Ward Hill justice we must say that there was a feeling in his heart which did not promise to be altogether bad. It is true he was hurt and angry as he recognized what lay before him, perhaps more angry than hurt, but he was determined now not to be crushed, or "downed," as he termed it. Mr. Crane kept the class but a few moments, only long enough to assign lessons and to make a few general suggestions, and then dismissed them.

As they filed out of the room, Jack said: "Ward, will you come over to my room now?"

"No," replied Ward quietly. "I think I'll go over to West and get a little start in my work. If I'm to be valedic, you know, I must begin early." Ward smiled slightly as he spoke, but he could not entirely conceal the depression which now swept over him. "Never mind, Speck, don't worry about me," he quickly added as he saw the sympathy expressed upon his friend's face; "I'm going to come through it all right. I'm not for giving up yet, anyway. I'll come over to see you after a bit; but just now I think I'll go to my room."

"All right," said Jack heartily, evidently appreciating Ward's desire to be alone.

Ward walked slowly over toward West Hall. He felt as if nearly all his companions would be against him now. Tim Pickard, in spite of his well-known character, was still a good deal of a leader, and his wealth and success as an athlete added greatly to his power over the boys. He could not repress the wish that Doctor Gray had not permitted Tim to return, for he must have known what every boy in the Weston school thought of him, and must also have known that there was very slight prospect of Tim's ever advancing. But here he was, and Ward must face the conditions which were before him. There was to be no escape now.

He entered his room and at once began to study. It was difficult for him to hold himself to his work, but he succeeded in a measure, and when two hours later Henry entered, Ward had much of his work done. So far as his class work was concerned he could look forward with confidence to what was to come on the morrow.

Throughout the day Ward found that his only consolation was in busying himself in some work. When he went down to the boarding hall he had but little to say to his companions, and returned at once to his room.

The day somehow passed and after the evening meal, when he had seated himself before his study table to write his first letter home, Big Smith suddenly entered the room, and said:

"Why, Ward, I haven't seen you to speak to you before. Where have you kept yourself?"

"I haven't been very far away," replied Ward with a smile.

His heart had never been drawn to the boy before him, but in times like the present even the friendship of Big Smith was not to be lightly cast aside. Ward Hill could endure anything better than the ill-will of his fellows.

"Well, I'm glad to see you," said Big Smith solemnly. "I sincerely trust you are going to do better this year than you did last."

"I hope so too," said Ward; "and I'm not without hope," he added solemnly, and striving to imitate exactly the tones Big Smith had used, "that you too will be able to improve."

"Let us hope so. Let us hope so. Doubtless there is room for us all. But, Ward, I'm not so much afraid of you as I am of Tim Pickard. I don't see why the doctor ever permitted him to return. I shouldn't, I'm sure of that."

Ward's face flushed and an angry retort rose upon his lips, but he restrained himself, and Big Smith continued:

"Yes, I confess, I'm not overmuch rejoiced over Tim's return. He's a good man for the nine, we all know that; but I fear he may be a disturbing element in the school. Not with me," he hastily added, "but I fear for you, Ward, I do, indeed."

Still Ward managed in some way to keep silent, though, as he afterward explained it, he never understood just how it was done.

"Even now," continued Big Smith, "I hear that Timothy is at work again. My brother informs me that he and some of his cronies have beguiled young Pond down on the ball ground and are tormenting him there."

"What? What's that, you say?" said Ward quickly, leaping from his seat as he spoke, and without waiting for his question to be answered he seized his hat and ran swiftly out of the room. Down the stairs he rushed, three steps at a jump, and out along the pathway that led to the ball ground.

One thought possessed him now--Little Pond was in trouble. Ward recalled his own promise to aid him, and now that the lad was suffering at the hands of Tim Pickard two feelings drove him on. One was his compassion for Pond and the other was his anger at Tim.

It was dusk, the sun having disappeared, but the darkness not as yet having settled over all. He ran swiftly forward and as he came near the ball ground he stopped as he heard a shout of laughter coming from that direction. It seemed to him he could hear Tim Pickard's voice above the others, but he did not stop to question as he again ran swiftly forward.

He soon came to the brow of the low hill that looked down upon the field. There he stopped for a moment and looked before him. He could see that four or five boys were there and there was something in the midst which at first he could not make out. Soon, however, he could see what it was. It was a baby carriage and some one was lying strapped upon it.

"Look out now, gentlemen," he heard some one of the boys call. "We have here the finest specimen of the infant terrible ever yet seen. Genus homo, order----"

"Don't! Please don't!" Ward heard some one pleadingly say. The voice was that of young Pond and the other speaker he now knew was Tim Pickard.

The pleadings were not heeded, however, and with a rush the boys started with the baby carriage over the rough ground.

Again Ward could hear the pleadings of the frightened lad and the sound was more than he could bear. In an instant he started down the hillside at his highest speed and ran swiftly on toward the noisy group.