Stratemeyer Edward
Dave Porter and His Classmates

CHAPTER XVII
SHADOW HAMILTON'S PERIL

When Dave reached the hallway he saw, by a dim light that was burning, a form at the lower end, moving toward a back stairs. An instant later the form glided up the stairs toward the third floor of the school building. The form was in white, and Dave knew it must be one of the students in his nightdress.

"Something is going on," he thought. "Wonder if that is Phil or Roger?"

Curious to learn what the midnight prowler was up to, Dave followed the unknown to the third story of the building. He saw the fellow walk to a side hall. Here it was almost dark, for the servants' rooms were in that part of the building. He stopped and listened and heard an odd creaking and a scraping sound. Then he went forward once more.

Turning into the side hall, a gust of cold wind struck him. He knew it came from overhead, and then he remembered that at the end of the side hall was a ladder leading to a scuttle of the roof. The scuttle had been thrown open, and wind and rain were coming down through the opening.

Dave's curiosity was now excited to the top pitch. He felt sure that the servants had not left the scuttle open on retiring or that it had been blown open by the wind. Consequently, the midnight prowler must have opened it, and if so, for what purpose excepting to get out on the wet and slippery roof?

Suddenly an idea flashed into Dave's mind, and without further ado he ran to the ladder and mounted it with all speed. At the top he thrust his head through the scuttle opening and looked around that portion of the school roof which was visible from that point.

He had expected to see a certain person, but he was disappointed. Yet this did not make him hesitate regarding his course of action. He crawled out on the roof, slippery and treacherous with slush, and made his way cautiously but rapidly to where there were an angle and a high gable, with a wide chimney between.

As he gained the side of the chimney and stood there in the rain, slush, and wind, he saw a sight that both thrilled and chilled him. The mysterious student in white was crawling up the gable and was already close to the ridge!

"Shadow Hamilton!" murmured Dave. "He is sleep-walking again!"

Dave was right – it was indeed poor Shadow, and as fast asleep as a sleep-walker can get. The lad had a tape measure in one hand and was muttering to himself:

"If the gable of a house is fourteen feet long on one side, and the angle at the top – " And then the rest was lost in the wind.

"He's dreaming of that problem in geometry," said Dave to himself. "It's got on his nerves."

He wondered what he could do to aid the sleep-walker. He was afraid to call to Shadow, for fear the boy might awaken suddenly and tumble off the roof. Shadow was now on the ridge, and, to Dave's added horror, he stood upright, the tape measure in his hands. Then he began to walk to the very end of the ridgepole.

"If he falls into the yard he'll break his neck sure!"

Such was Dave's agonizing thought, and despite the cold, the heavy perspiration stood out on his forehead.

"Dave!"

It was a voice from the scuttle opening and came so unexpectedly it made the youth start. Turning back, he made out Phil in the dim light.

"Phil!" he whispered.

"What are you doing up there, Dave?"

"I followed Shadow Hamilton."

"Shadow?"

"Yes. He is sleep-walking again and has climbed to the ridge of the gable roof. I don't dare to awaken him for fear of an accident."

"I saw you go out and I was wondering what was up. Then I missed Shadow and came after you. It's too bad, Dave! But I imagine the very best thing you can do is to let him alone until he comes back."

"I don't like to take the responsibility, Phil. If anything should happen I'd never forgive myself. I'll tell you what I wish you'd do."

"What?"

"Run and call Mr. Dale. He knows something about these cases. He once told me he had a brother who walked in his sleep and did all sorts of strange things."

"All right, I'll call him," answered the shipowner's son, and disappeared down the scuttle ladder.

Going back to the chimney, Dave now saw that Shadow had reached the end of the ridgepole and was kneeling down upon it. Holding out the tape measure he proceeded to make several imaginary measurements, all the while muttering to himself. The sight almost caused Dave's heart to stop beating, for the slightest miscalculation on the sleep-walker's part would have caused a serious if not fatal accident.

After what seemed a long time Dave heard Phil coming back. He was accompanied by Andrew Dale, the head teacher, who had stopped just long enough to get on some of his clothing.

"Where is he?" whispered Mr. Dale, as he came out in the wind and rain.

"There," answered Dave, and pointed out the form of the sleep-walker.

"Have you tried to speak to him?"

"No, I was afraid."

"Then, don't say a word till he comes down to a safer place."

After that the three watched Shadow Hamilton for several minutes while he continued his calculation and used the tape measure. Then they saw the sleep-walker wind up the measure.

"He is coming down!" whispered Phil, and he was right. Slowly Shadow climbed down from the gable roof and made his way toward the scuttle. He had taken but a few steps when suddenly he slipped and fell.

"Oh!" he cried, and looked around in bewilderment. "Where – "

"Shadow!" cried Dave, and caught him by the arm. "You are all right, so don't worry."

"But where am I?" insisted the sleep-walker.

"On the roof."

"You have been walking in your sleep, Hamilton," explained Mr. Dale. "Come, let me help you down the ladder. You are soaked through, and if you don't get into a warm bed very quickly you may catch your death of cold."

Completely bewildered, Shadow allowed himself to be taken to the ladder and aided to descend. Then the scuttle was closed and hooked.

"I do not think it best for you to go back to the dormitory," said the head teacher. "I'll put you in a warm room by yourself. But perhaps it would be as well for somebody to stay with you for the rest of the night," and Andrew Dale looked questioningly at Dave and Phil.

"I'll stay," said Dave, quickly.

"Very well. To-morrow we'll talk this over and see what is best to do. There is no use in trying to do so now, when we are all cold, wet, and tired."

The head teacher led the way to a private bedroom that was well heated and had Dave go back to the dormitory for some extra clothing. Then he left Dave and Shadow to themselves.

"This breaks me all up," said Shadow, moodily. "I thought I was all over those tricks."

"It was the hard study did it, and the tests," answered Dave. "You had that geometrical problem in your mind and couldn't get rid of it. Maybe you'll never walk in your sleep again."

"I sincerely trust not, Dave. It was good of you and the others to help me," and Shadow gave his chum a grateful look.

"We did very little, Shadow – indeed, I didn't know what to do. But when I saw you on the very end of the ridge I can tell you my heart was in my throat."

Before going to bed both boys indulged in a good rubbing down and consequently the exposure to the elements did them no harm. In the morning Shadow was excused from attending school and Horsehair was sent to town to get some of the medicine which the sleep-walker had taken in the past, after the exposure of his former exploits during the night.

With the coming of spring the boys had a vacation of several days. A few of the students went home, but the majority remained at Oak Hall, and, to pass away the time, indulged in all sorts of sports and pastimes, including a funny initiation of the Soden brothers.

At New Year a new gymnasium teacher had been engaged, – a fine man, who was an expert gymnast and also a good boxer and fencer. Since coming back to the Hall, Dave had become interested in both boxing and fencing, and spent some time under the new instructor.

"I believe a chap ought to know how to defend himself," he said to Roger. "In knocking around one doesn't know what kind of a hole he may be placed in, – and you can never know too much."

"Well, I like boxing and fencing myself," answered the senator's son, and after that he and Dave had many a time together, with the foils and gloves.

Link Merwell did not care much for fencing, but he took readily to boxing, and he caused Nat Poole to take up the sport. As the pair were still totally ignored by the Gee Eyes they had to box against one another or with some of the younger lads.

"Those fellows are afraid to box with me," said Link Merwell, on several occasions. "They know that I can do every one of them up in short order." He referred to Dave and his chums, and made the assertion in the presence of a large crowd of students.

At first none of the Gee Eyes paid any attention to the bully, but gradually the boasting nettled them, and some of them talked it over. Then came a report from little Frank Bond to the effect that Link Merwell was saying he had asked Dave to box him and the latter had declined because he was afraid.

"Dave, if I were you, I wouldn't stand for that," said Buster Beggs.

"What am I to do?" asked Dave. "The Gee Eyes voted to leave Merwell and Poole severely alone, and I've got to stick by my word."

"Well, I guess they'll vote for the boxing contest – if you want to stand up before him."

"I certainly am not afraid to do so."

As a consequence of this talk, Buster spoke to Luke Watson, and there was a hasty meeting of the Gee Eyes and it was voted that Dave should box Merwell if he so desired.

Not knowing of this meeting and of its result, Link Merwell strode into the gymnasium the next afternoon, in company with Nat Poole, and proceeded to put on a pair of boxing gloves.

"Too bad, Nat, but I can't wake any of those fellows up," he said, loudly. "Every one of 'em is afraid to face me."

"How about Dave Porter?" asked Nat Poole, in an equally loud tone.

"Worst of the bunch. I guess he's afraid I'll knock the head off of him."

These words were spoken so that Dave might hear them. There were a few seconds of silence, and then Dave walked up to Merwell.

"So you think I am afraid to box you, Merwell?" he said, quietly.

"Oh, so you've woke up, eh?" sneered the bully. "Thought you and your crowd had gone to sleep."

"I want to know if you think I am afraid to box you?"

"Of course you are afraid."

"You are mistaken – and I'll prove it to you in very short order. How soon do you want to box?"

At this Link Merwell was taken by surprise, and his face showed it. But he was "game," and drew himself up.

"Any time you want me to box you I'll be ready."

"Then we'll box right now," answered Dave.

CHAPTER XVIII
THE BOXING BOUT

"A boxing match!"

"I think Dave Porter will win."

"I don't know about that. Link Merwell has been doing a great deal of boxing lately and has it down pretty fine."

"That may be, but Dave is as quick as they make them."

So the talk ran on, as the boys in the gymnasium gathered around the would-be contestants. They felt that, no matter who won, they were going to see something worth while. Many secretly hoped that the boxing match would degenerate into a regular fight, for they knew that Dave and Merwell were bitter enemies, and the majority wanted to see the big bully soundly whipped.

"We'll have to have a referee and a timekeeper," said Dave. "Who shall they be?"

"A referee and a timekeeper?" repeated Link Merwell. "Why don't you start her up and have done with it?"

"This is to be no prize fight, Merwell. I shall box you for points only."

"Oh!" The bully put as much of a sneer into the exclamation as possible. "Afraid to finish it up, eh?"

"Perhaps you'll get all you want before we stop," answered Dave, calmly.

"What kind of gloves do you want? The thickest in the place, I suppose."

"No, a medium glove will do for me. Mr. Dodsworth recommends the number five."

"Humph! I'm willing to box with a number one if you wish!"

"We might as well box without gloves as with number ones. This is to be no slugging match, as I intimated before. If you are afraid to box for points say so."

"Oh, I'll box you any way you please. Who do you want for timekeeper and referee?"

"Any boy with a good watch can keep time. I think Mr. Dodsworth ought to be the referee."

"Nat Poole can judge it all right," growled Merwell.

"He's not acceptable to me," answered Dave, promptly.

"The gym. teacher is all right," said Roger. "He'll know just what every move counts."

Link Merwell wished to argue, but Dave would not listen, and in the end the services of the new gymnasium teacher were called in. Mr. Dodsworth smiled when told of what was on foot.

"Very well, I'll be referee," he said. "Now, let me warn you against all foul moves. You both know the rules. Let this be a purely scientific struggle for points. Length of each round two minutes, with two minutes intermission. How many rounds do you want to have?"

"To a finish," said Link Merwell, and he glared wickedly at Dave.

"No, I'll not allow that, for it is too exhausting. Let us say ten rounds. That will give you twenty minutes of hot work. Here, I will give my watch to Lambertson and he can keep the time." And he passed the watch over to the student mentioned.

The way matters had been arranged did not suit Link Merwell at all, yet he felt forced to submit or acknowledge that he was afraid of Dave. He had wished for a free-and-easy match and had hoped, on the sly, to get in a foul blow or two which might knock Dave out. Now, under the keen eyes of the gymnasium instructor, he knew he would have to be careful of his every movement.

The preliminaries arranged, the two boxers faced each other, while the students gathered thickly in a large circle around them. The circle was protected by benches, giving to the scene something of the air of a professional boxing ring.

"Ready!" called out Mr. Dodsworth. "Go!" he cried.

But there was very little "go" at the start. Both boxers were on the alert and they circled around slowly, looking for an opening. Then Merwell made a pass, which Dave warded off easily. Then Dave landed on his opponent's breast, Merwell came back with a blow in the shoulder, and Dave, ducking, sent in two in quick succession on the bully's neck and ear. Then time was called.

"How does that stand?" asked some of the boys.

"I'll tell you later," said Mr. Dodsworth, as he penciled something on a bit of paper.

"Oh, tell us now!" they pleaded.

But the instructor was obdurate. And while the lads were pleading round two was called.

The contestants were now warming up, and blows were given and taken freely. Link Merwell was forced back twice, and was glad when time was called by Lambertson.

"Don't get too anxious," said the instructor, during the recess. "Remember, this is for points."

Again the two boys went at it, and the third, fourth, and fifth rounds were mixed up freely. All present had to acknowledge that Link Merwell boxed quite well, but they saw that the points were in Dave's favor. Dave had perfect control of himself, while the bully was getting excited.

"I'll show you something now!" cried Merwell as they came up for round six. He flew at Dave like a wild animal. But Dave was on the alert and dodged and ducked in a manner that brought constant applause. Then, almost before anybody knew it, he landed on the bully's jaw, his cheek, and then his nose.

"O my! Look at that!"

"Say, that was swift, wasn't it?"

The three blows had thrown Merwell off his balance, and he recovered with difficulty.

"He – he fouled me!" he panted.

"No foul!" answered the gymnasium instructor, and just then time was called.

"Maybe Merwell would like to call it off," suggested Dave.

"Not much! I'll show you yet!" roared the bully. "I'll have you to know – "

"Merwell, you'll do better if you'll keep your excitement down," advised the instructor. "'Keep cool,' is an excellent motto."

"Dave, you're doing well," whispered Roger. "Keep it up and Merwell won't know where he is at by the end of the tenth round."

"I intend to keep it up," was the answer. "I started out to teach that bully a lesson and I'll do it – if it is in me."

And it was in Dave – as the seventh and eighth rounds showed. In the latter round he practically had the bully at his mercy, and boxed him all around the ring. The calling of time found Merwell panting for breath and so confused he could hardly see.

"I think you had better give it up," said the gymnasium instructor. "Merwell, you have had enough."

"Say, are you going to give this boxing match to Porter?" roared the bully.

"Yes, for he has won it fairly. He already has twenty-six points to your seven."

"It ain't fair! I can lick him any day!"

"It is not a question of 'licking' anybody, Merwell. This was a boxing bout for points, and you are no longer in condition to box. I declare Porter the winner, and I congratulate him on his clean and clever work with the gloves."

"He – he fouled me."

"Not at all. If there was any fouling it was done by you in the sixth and seventh rounds. I might have disqualified you then if I had been very particular about it. But I saw that Porter was willing to let you go on."

This was the bitterest pill of all for Link Merwell to swallow. To think he might have been disqualified but that Dave Porter had been given the chance to continue hammering him! He wanted to argue, but no one except Nat Poole would listen to him, and so he strode out of the gymnasium in disgust, accompanied by his crony.

"It makes me sick," he muttered. "Everybody stands up for Porter, no matter what he does!"

"Well, you see he has a way of worming in with everybody," answered Nat Poole. "A decent chap wouldn't do it, but you couldn't expect anything different from a poorhouse boy, could you?" When alone he and Merwell frequently referred to Dave as "a poorhouse boy," but both took good care not to use that term in public, remembering what punishment it had brought down on their heads.

"He'll crow over us worse than ever now," resumed Merwell. "Oh, but don't I wish I could square up with him and the rest of the Gee Eyes!"

"We'll do it some day, – when we get the chance," said Poole. "Come on and have a smoke; it will help to quiet you." And then he and the bully walked away from Oak Hall to a secluded spot, where they might indulge themselves in the forbidden pastime of smoking cigarettes. Both were inveterate smokers and had to exercise extreme caution that knowledge of the offense might not reach Doctor Clay or his assistants.

Finding a comfortable spot, the boys sat down on a fallen tree and there consumed one cigarette after another, trying to be real "mannish" by inhaling the smoke and blowing it through the nose. As they smoked they talked of many things, the conversation finally drifting around to Vera Rockwell and Mary Feversham.

"I understand Phil Lawrence is daffy over that Feversham girl," remarked Poole. "She is a fairly good sort, but she wouldn't suit me." He said this because Mary had snubbed him on several occasions when they had met in Oakdale.

"Well, I heard Roger Morr was daffy over that Rockwell girl," answered Merwell. "And I heard, too, that Porter was likely to cut him out."

"Porter cut him out!" exclaimed Nat Poole. "Who told you that? Why, Dave Porter is too thick with Jessie Wadsworth to think much of anybody else."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Yes. Why, when Porter is home the two are as thick as can be. I am sure that Jessie Wadsworth thinks the world of him, too, although why is beyond my comprehension," added the dudish student. He had not forgotten how Jessie had also snubbed him, when invitations were being sent out for her party.

"Humph!" Link Merwell puffed at his cigarette in silence for a moment. "You say they are thick, – and still he goes out with this Vera Rockwell. Kind of funny mix-up, eh?"

"Oh, I suppose he has a right to do as he pleases," drawled Nat.

"Say, we might – " Merwell stopped short and blew a quantity of cigarette smoke from his nose.

"Might what?"

"Oh, I was just thinking, Nat – " And the bully stopped again.

"If you don't want me to know, say so," returned the dudish student, crossly.

"I was thinking that perhaps we could put a spoke in Dave Porter's wheel in a manner that he'd never suspect. If he's somewhat sweet on that Wadsworth girl, and at the same time giving his attention to Vera Rockwell, we ought to be able to do something."

"What?"

"Supposing that Wadsworth girl heard he was running around with a girl up here, and supposing Vera Rockwell heard about the Crumville maiden? Maybe Dave Porter would have some work straightening matters out, eh?"

"By Jove, you're right!" cried Nat Poole. "It's a great scheme, Link! If we work it right, we can get him in the hottest kind of water – especially if he thinks a good deal of both girls."

"And that isn't all," added Link Merwell, lighting a fresh cigarette. "Don't forget Roger Morr. If he thinks a good deal of Vera Rockwell we'll manage to put a flea in his ear, – that Porter is trying to cut him out in an underhanded way. I reckon that will split up the friendship between Porter and Morr pretty quick."

"So it will!" Nat Poole's eyes fairly beamed. "This is the best plan yet, Link! Let us put it into execution at once. How shall we go at it?"

"That remains to be seen," said Merwell.

And then and there the pair plotted to get Dave and his friends into "the hottest kind of water," as the bully expressed it, and break up the closest of friendships.