CHAPTER V

A WARNING

Ward had drawn near the group before his presence was discovered. The deepening dusk and the sheltered position of the ball ground had made the boys who were tormenting Little Pond almost reckless, so secure did they feel from detection. As a consequence he was close upon them before any one perceived him.

"Now shake the infant up! Bye, baby, bye! That's a good little boy. We'll give him a good ride, so we will!"

There was no mistaking that voice, it could be none other than Tim Pickard's, and Ward could see that he was holding the handle of the carriage and was preparing to make another rush with the unfortunate lad who lay stretched upon it.

"Look out! Look out!" called one of the boys suddenly, as he caught sight of the approaching form. "Some one's coming. Let's get out of this!"

In an instant Tim's companions scattered and fled in the darkness, while Tim himself looked about him in surprise, as if he were not yet able to account for the sudden departure of his friends.

Ward was close upon him now, and without hesitating an instant he rushed upon the tormentor of Little Pond with such force that he was sent headlong and rolled over and over upon the ground before he could regain his foothold.

Ward had not fully realized what he would have to meet in the struggle, for he had thought that he would be set upon by all the assembled mischief-makers together; but the cry of Little Pond had banished all other thoughts from his mind, and he had gone recklessly to the aid of the lad. He had not counted at all upon the results which quickly followed.

As soon as Tim could recover himself he ran swiftly off in the darkness in the direction in which his companions had disappeared, and in a moment no one was left upon the scene except Ward and the lad, who still was lying fast bound and in an exceedingly uncomfortable position upon the top of the baby carriage.

Doubtless the fears in the heart of Tim and his companions had either exaggerated the number of those who were approaching, or they had thought some of the teachers were making a descent upon them, and in the latter event Tim most of all would have found a very serious problem to face.

At any rate, they had all disappeared so quickly that Ward could hardly believe at first that he was left alone. He waited a moment to see if any would return, his blood boiling, and the feeling of anger in his heart making him almost reckless of any consequences that might befall him for his hasty but generous action.

As soon as he was satisfied that no one was coming back he turned to young Pond, and as he unbound the straps by which he had been held fast, he said:

"What's the meaning of this? How came you to be here?"

"I don't know. I was walking along the path over by the chapel when three fellows rushed at me, and before I knew what they were about they were rushing me down here upon the ball ground. One of them tied his handkerchief over my mouth, but I tore it off. I didn't want to cry out, but I couldn't help it. They didn't seem to think any one could hear me and so left it off."

"Are you hurt?"

"Not much, though my back pains me. You see, they picked me up and tied me in the carriage so that my head and shoulders hung over the back, and every time they made a rush it seemed to me as if they would break me straight in two."

"How long have you been here?"

"I don't know; it seems as if it must have been days, but I don't suppose it was more than half an hour. I thought they'd never stop."

"Do you know who the fellows were?"

"Yes."

"Who were they?"

"I don't think I'll tell, Ward. It wouldn't do any good; and besides, I may be mistaken, you know. No, I'd rather not tell you if you don't mind."

"You don't need to," said Ward quietly. "I know who they were. At least I know who one was, and I rather think he'll not forget his tumble very soon, either. But come on now, it's time we were in our rooms. There goes the study bell now, and we'll be marked late if we don't look out. Come on."

Both boys started quickly toward West Hall, and on their way they met a group of five boys, one of whom was Tim Pickard. They too were heading for their rooms, but the recognition was mutual, and Ward instantly realized that his own troubles were likely to be multiplied by that fact. However, he said nothing to his companion. In a few moments they entered West Hall; but the bell had ceased ringing several minutes before, and as they went up the stairway they met Mr. Blake face to face.

"Late are you, Hill?" said the teacher. "I'm sorry to see that so early in the term. And you have one of the younger boys with you too!" he added as he saw who Ward's companion was. "That's too bad, Hill, that's too bad. You ought not to get the little fellows into trouble too. It's quite enough for you to get into it yourself. If this happens again, Hill, I shall report it to Dr. Gray."

It had been in Ward's heart to explain the cause of his tardiness, or at least to try to shield his companion, but as Mr. Blake talked on, he resolutely shut his lips together and without a word of explanation went on up to his room, while Little Pond also departed to his.

As Ward entered the room Henry looked up in surprise, and Ward felt that there was an implied rebuke in his glance. Repressing the feeling of anger which at first arose, he soon explained to his chum the exciting scene he had just witnessed, and as he finished, Henry said:

"That was a mean trick! They might have broken the little fellow's back. It was Tim Pickard at the bottom of it, I suppose."

"Yes," said Ward quietly.

"Well, never mind, Ward," said Henry quickly. "Probably he'll turn his attention to you now; but I think you'll be able to stand it."

"I shall try to," said Ward with a smile, as he seated himself at his study table, and taking up his books began his preparation of the lessons for the following day. And he studied hard all that evening. His heart was still hot and his feelings were bitter whenever he thought of the brutal treatment of Little Pond, and yet he did not once pause to consider that a year before this time he might have been one of the very boys to be foremost in such a scrape, and call it good fun. Now, however, it seemed to him like a very cowardly act. He had felt a very strong personal liking for the elder Pond, and the letters he had received from him, as well as the appeal of the little fellow himself, had worked strongly upon his own heart. Besides all that, it was such an entirely unusual experience for him to be approached for aid that it was a new motive in his heart which was stirred now. Hitherto, he had been the one to seek help. Now he was a senior, and the feeling of respect with which he had looked to the older boys when he had entered the Weston school must be very like that which Pond's brother now felt toward him.

Ward enjoyed the feeling too. The cry of Little Pond for aid came back to him frequently and he had fully resolved before the evening passed that he would "see the little fellow through," which was the way in which he expressed his determination to see that the lad was not put upon or tormented by Tim Pickard or any of his boon companions.

Still, when the morning came Ward was hardly prepared for the consequences which soon followed his action.

When he entered the post office he found a letter awaiting him there, which evidently had been written by some boy, for the handwriting plainly showed that, and the postmark was Weston.

He hastily tore open the envelope and then read the enclosed letter, which was as follows:

WESTON SCHOOL, September 18, 19--

To WARD HILL, SNEAK:

You are hereby notified that you have been expelled from the ancient and venerable order of "Orang-outangs." You have promised never to betray any of the secrets of the order, but probably you will not keep your word any better in this case than you do in others. We want to warn you though, that your best plan is to leave the school at once. Don't delay, for delays are dangerous. Your life will not be safe. You will be snubbed by the fellows and you will find that everybody, except a few sneaks, in the whole school is down on you. If you stay it will be at your own peril. Take the advice and follow the warning of the

COMMITTEE.

As Ward looked up after finishing the reading of the letter he saw Tim Pickard standing in the doorway and regarding him with ill-concealed hatred. Ward laughed aloud as he saw the boy, and approaching him and holding out the letter which he had just read, he said:

"There, Tim, you'd better take your letter; I don't want it. You may be able to scare the little fellows in the dark as you did Little Pond last night, but you can't scare me. As for you and the 'Tangs,' you know I don't care that for them," and he snapped his fingers derisively as he spoke. "You know as well as I do that I had made up my mind never to have anything more to do with such fellows. Perhaps, if you don't want the letter, Dr. Gray might care for it," he added as Tim made no movement to receive it.

Ward was sorry for the words the moment he had uttered them, but they were gone beyond recall now. He had not the slightest inclination to give the letter to the principal, and he knew that Tim Pickard was aware of that fact too; but Tim instantly snatched the letter from his hand and giving Ward a look of intense hatred turned quickly on his heel and departed.

Ward was inclined to laugh at the entire matter. As for the "Tangs," he was glad that the break had come. He had known that his only safety lay in cutting loose from them, but just how it was to be done he had not been able to decide. It had been a topic of conversation to which neither he nor Jack had referred since the vacation had begun, and now that the break at last had really come, Ward felt relieved.

As for their threats, he cared little for them. The most they could do would be a series of petty annoyances, and in the present state of his feelings that seemed a very small matter.

Of Tim Pickard's hatred for him he had no doubt, but that the brutal leader would be able to annoy him seriously he had no fear. He had all those lessons yet to learn, along with some others that were not indicated in the "course of study" as mapped out in the catalogue of the Weston school.

When he entered the Latin room that morning and took his seat beside Jack, he felt rather than perceived that a change of some kind had come over his companion. It was nothing that Jack said, nor was it clearly apparent in his manner, and yet there was an indefinable something about him that led Ward to think that a change of some kind had come. For the first time Ward's heart misgave him. Perhaps he had been too bold after all. Could he afford to incur the loss of Jack's friendship for the sake of a little fellow whom he had never met until a few days before this time?

His thoughts, however, were soon recalled, and he was giving his entire attention to the work of the class. His own lesson had been thoroughly prepared and when he took his seat after Mr. Crane had called upon him to recite he felt that he had done well.

Mr. Crane, however, made no comment, and there was no change in the quiet manner with which he conducted his recitation. Ward was a trifle disappointed, as he felt that such work as he was doing was entitled to a little more recognition than he had received. However, he gave his attention to the lesson, and when the class rose to leave the room he turned to Jack and said:

"It's this afternoon the nine practises, isn't it?"

"Yes," replied Jack evasively.

The conversation ceased abruptly, and as Ward passed with the class out to Dr. Gray's recitation room, he several times perceived that he himself was the subject of conversation among the boys.

Striving hard not to appear to notice it, and yet with a sinking heart realizing that somehow the boys appeared to avoid him, he apparently was taking his last glimpse at his lesson before entering the recitation room. And yet his thoughts were not of the lesson. Even Jack he noticed was walking by the side of Berry--Luscious Berry--and if one might judge from his manner the conversation was highly interesting. With a heavy heart Ward entered the room, and as soon as the recitation was ended departed alone for his room in West Hall. Once there, he seated himself and in a kind of dull misery began to think over his situation. The fellows were "cutting" him, there was no doubt of that, he thought, and even the new boys were looking at him with suspicion. And yet it was possible for him even now to win back all he had lost; all he would have to do would be to go in with the "Tangs" again and enter heartily into their sports and pranks and he would soon have his position restored.

But what would that position be? One which would prevent him from doing good work, first of all, and that was something he was eager to do, at least for the present. Soon he would forfeit the good opinion of Mr. Crane and Dr. Gray, and his steps would begin to slide. He might win a certain amount of popularity from such fellows as Tim, but what would it all amount to?

Then why should he feel called upon to defend Little Pond? He had been compelled to fight his own battles when he had entered the school and it had done him good, or at least so Ward thought. Little Pond would soon learn to take his own part, and meanwhile a little attention from Tim might not do him any real harm.

Ward Hill was seriously troubled. He did not fully realize it, but the greatest pain in his own heart was over the loss of his popularity among his fellows.

For this his heart hungered, and as his struggle went on, more than once his decision wavered. He was now at the dividing of the ways. He had been traveling along a road thus far which, while uneven, had been for the most part unbroken. Now the road forked, and if he went on he must choose either the one branch or the other.

That afternoon was to be the first day of practice for the school nine. A notice to that effect had been posted upon the bulletin board, and while no personal invitation had been given him to come, Ward decided to go. He must learn the exact condition of affairs, both for his own sake and to know how to meet the boys, and there would be no better place than on the ballground.

Accordingly, when the study hour was over, he closed his books and started for the place, from which as he approached he could hear already the shouts of the fellows in the game.