The High School Rivals

Or

Fred Markham's Struggles

BY FRANK V. WEBSTER

AUTHOR OF "THE BOYS OF BELLWOOD SCHOOL," "THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS," "THE YOUNG TREASURE HUNTER," ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1911, by CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

Printed in U. S. A.

BOOKS FOR BOYS

By FRANK V. WEBSTER

ONLY A FARM BOY TOM, THE TELEPHONE BOY THE BOY FROM THE RANCH THE YOUNG TREASURE HUNTER BOB, THE CASTAWAY THE YOUNG FIREMEN OF LAKEVILLE THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS THE BOY PILOT OF THE LAKES TWO BOY GOLD MINERS JACK, THE RUNAWAY COMRADES OF THE SADDLE THE BOYS OF BELLWOOD SCHOOL THE HIGH SCHOOL RIVALS AIRSHIP ANDY BOB CHESTER'S GRIT BEN HARDY'S FLYING MACHINE DICK, THE BANK BOY DARRY, THE LIFE SAVER

CHAPTER I

THE RIVALS

"Nineteen hundred and twelve to the top steps! We're Second Form now! Top steps belong to the Second Form!" shouted four boys, redolent with health and life, as they dashed up the tree-lined walk leading to the Baxter High School, mounted the lower steps, and threw themselves into the coveted positions.

It was the opening day of school, and the spacious, shady grounds were alive with happy, wide-awake boys, and merry, laughing girls, renewing old acquaintances and closely scrutinizing all newcomers.

As the rallying cry rang out, other members of the Second Form broke away from those with whom they were talking and hastened to join the four leaders whom they hailed by the nicknames of Taffy, Soda, Lefty and Buttons, reminders of past exploits.

With envious glances at the proud Seconds, the Lower Form scholars gathered at the foot of the steps, eager to witness any fun that might transpire.

Conspicuous among them was a tall, thin boy, who carried a large bunch of books under his arm.

"Is that the meeting-place of the Second Form?" asked this lad, of the one nearest him.

"Uhuh."

"Thank you. I think I will join them."

"You'd better n——" began his informer, but before he could finish his warning, a hand was clapped over his mouth and warm lips whispered in his ears, "Let him go. He must be taught respect for the Upper Forms. Wait till Soda sees him."

Interference was now too late, had the Lower Form boy wished to finish his advice. For no sooner had the newcomer emerged from the ranks of the others standing at the foot of the steps than a girl, brunette, and very pretty, nudged her companion, who, though just as attractive, was of the blonde type, and giggled:

"Oh, Grace, look at that coming up the steps!"

This exclamation, being audible to the others, all the boys and girls turned their eyes in the direction of the new student, and watched his approach in a silence portentous in its intensity.

Even the newcomer felt its significance, and, as he reached the fourth step from the top, paused, hesitatingly.

Taking advantage of his evident embarrassment, the lad nicknamed Soda, making his voice very deep, demanded:

"What dost thou wish, Clothespin?"

The nickname was so appropriate that the boys and girls roared with laughter, adding still more to their victim's discomfiture.

Twice he cleared his throat, but the grinning faces of the boys and the mischievous eyes of the girls stifled his words and sent hot flushes to his cheeks.

"He's mine! I saw him first!" exclaimed another of the Second Formers, noting the newcomer's embarrassment. "Now, Clothespin, what is it you desire? Speak, or forever hold your tongue."

To the new student, the bantering seemed terribly real, and, after gulping several times, he stammered:

"Is this the Second Form?"

"Yea, verily, Clothespin, this is the Second Form—that is, the best part of it," returned Soda.

But if the students had been amazed by the newcomer's temerity in mounting the steps, they were dumfounded by his reply, as he bowed gravely:

"I am glad to meet you all. My name is James Appleby Bronson. I have passed my examinations to the Second Form."

An instant the students on the top step gazed from their new member to one another, then Soda arose, and, with a mocking wave of his hand, bowed low and commanded:

"Second Formers, rise and salute your fellow member, Mr. James Appleby Bronson, called Clothespin for short."

As though moved by a spring, the twenty-two members of the Second Form stood up and chorused:

"Welcome, Clothespin."

"Then I can sit with you?" asked the newcomer, looking toward Soda.

"You can sit on the top step, there by the railing," replied the leader, pointing to a place at the opposite side of the porch. "There are a few formalities to be settled before you can be really one of us."

Relieved that his torture was over for the moment, yet wondering what the "formalities" could be, Bronson started to take the seat by the rail, when the lad called Taffy exclaimed:

"Where are your credentials?"

"Credentials?" repeated the new student in surprise.

"Yes, your credentials. Didn't the Head give you a card?"

"Why, no. Mr. Vining said all I need do was to meet my instructors and enroll in the classes."

"It was very wrong in the Head to misinform you," began Taffy in mock solemnity, when he was interrupted by a voice shouting: "Here comes Bart Montgomery!"

Instantly cries of welcome greeted the announcement, and in the confusion Bronson was forgotten.

Glancing at the boy whose arrival had spared him further badgering, Bronson saw a tall, lithe fellow, with dark-hued, handsome face.

"Who is Montgomery?" he asked of the boy next him.

"What, you coming to Baxter and don't know Bart Montgomery?" returned the other. "Don't let anybody else hear you say so. He made the hit that won over Landon School last spring—the first time in four years. He's the best baseball and football player at Baxter, that's who Bart Montgomery is."

"No, he isn't, either," interposed another boy.

"Who's better?" demanded Bart's champion.

"Fred Markham."

"Don't you believe him, Clothespin!"

"Well, I don't know about his athletic standing, but I do know I don't like Mr. Montgomery's eyes," rejoined the latter; "he can't look you in the face."

This dispute had passed unnoticed in the welcoming of Bart. As he took his seat in the center of the Second Form students, Lefty exclaimed:

"Now we're all back."

"Not yet," returned Buttons.

"Who's missing?"

"Fred Markham."

"Oh, he'll not be back," sneered Bart Montgomery.

"Why?" chorused several of the boys, while all the others gathered closer.

"You know his father failed, don't you?" demanded Bart.

"Sure," said Buttons, "but how does that affect Fred?"

"He can win the Second Form Scholarship in Science—that'll give him cash enough, if he's short of money," protested another.

"Oh, it isn't lack of rocks that will keep him away," asserted Bart contemptuously.

"Then what will?" persisted Buttons.

All the former students who had returned to Baxter were aware that a rivalry had sprung up the previous year between Fred Markham and Bart Montgomery, due to the former's increasing ability, both in his studies and in athletics, which threatened to wrest the Form leadership from Bart. But they had supposed it to be an honest, schoolboy rivalry, and the tone in which Bart spoke of Fred surprised them.

As both boys were popular, they had many followers among their own and the Third Form students, and unconsciously these divided, Fred's supporters gathering about Buttons, who was championing their absent leader, the others about Bart.

Noticing that he had by far the most numerous following, Bart's pride got the better of his discretion and he retorted:

"If you want to know so much, I'll tell you. You know some men fail in order to make money."

"You mean Fred Markham's father failed dishonestly?" demanded Buttons.

So pointed was the insinuated accusation that, young people though they were, the other students realized its seriousness, and with solemn faces awaited Bart's reply.

The attention of all the scholars hanging upon the answer, none of them had noticed the approach of a well-built, manly young fellow, whose open, honest face and frank blue eyes were in striking contrast to the crafty, though handsome, features of Bart. As a result, the late-comer had reached the edge of the crowd just as Bart exclaimed:

"That's just what I mean. My father was the principal creditor. So I guess I know."

At these words there was a sharp intaking of breath by the divided groups, and Buttons retorted:

"I don't believe it. Fred Markham's father is an honest man."

"Thank you, Buttons," exclaimed a strained voice.

At the words, all eyes were turned in the direction whence they came, and as the boys recognized the speaker, shouts of "Here's Fred! Hello, Cotton-Top! Now say that to his face, you Bart!" filled the air.

"Who said my father was dishonest?" demanded Fred.

"Bart did!" chorused several.

Striding to where the calumniator stood, Fred looked straight in his face.

"Did you say my father was dishonest?"

But the accuser did not have the courage to say in the presence of the son what he had said in his absence, despite the fact that he overtopped Fred by a good two inches, and temporized:

"I said there was something queer about your father's failure. My father said so."

"You are right, Bart Montgomery. There was something 'queer' about it—but not on my father's side!"

"What do you mean?" snarled Bart.

"Anything you want to think," returned Fred.

Drawing back his right hand, Bart hissed:

"I'll teach you to say things about my father, you puppy! Even before yours failed mine could buy him and sell him."

"Because your father had more money doesn't make mine dishonest," retorted Fred, squaring himself to ward off the expected blow.

But before it could be delivered, a stern voice exclaimed:

"Boys, what does this mean?"

"The Head! The Head!" gasped several of the onlookers, and like magic the crowd of students melted away, leaving Mr. Vining, for it was the principal of the school, with Fred and Bart. A moment he gazed from one to the other of the lads.

"Second Formers should set an example of good behavior, not bad," he said. "Bart, come to my office at once. Fred, I shall expect you at the end of thirty minutes."

CHAPTER II

FACING SUSPENSION

From behind trees and other points of vantage, scores of eyes had watched the headmaster, as, silent and with the gentle dignity that endeared him to his students, he entered the school building, followed by the unwilling Bart.

The town of Baxter would never have been distinguished from countless other prosperous country villages had it not been for the High School. And Mr. Vining's personality had made that institution what it was—the best in the county.

Never for an instant did the headmaster forget that he had once been a boy himself, wherefore he had been able to look with indulgence upon the harmless pranks of the lads and girls under his charge. It had been his good fortune to attract assistants who held the same general ideas, and, as a result, the one hundred and twenty pupils in the school were more like a big, happy family than anything else.

For the most part, the students lived in Baxter, but each year saw more and more scholars come from other towns.

Due to his understanding of young people, Mr. Vining had established the policy of allowing them to settle their differences themselves, only interfering in cases of unusual seriousness.

But fighting in public was tabooed—and because they knew this, the students had fled when his unheralded arrival had put a stop to the quarrel between Fred and Bart.

No sooner had he disappeared within the building, however, than the scholars emerged from their hiding places.

Swarming about Fred, they looked at him like one about to receive condign punishment.

"You're a nice one, you are, to get Bart in trouble on the very first day of school," came from the lad called Taffy.

"Then he shouldn't have said such things about my father," retorted Fred.

"And he called you a puppy," chimed in another.

"It isn't a nice word, but it doesn't seem to me as mean as saying such things about Mr. Markham," asserted the new Second Former to his neighbor.

"It don't, eh?" ejaculated the other. "Well, it's a good deal worse. 'Puppy' is the fighting word at Baxter."

Fortunately for Bronson, his remark had not been heard by any except the boy next him, or he would have been drawn into the wrangle which was growing serious again as Taffy exclaimed:

"Fiddlesticks! I'll bet you saw the Head coming or you'd never dared to face Bart. You know he can whip——"

"You know better than that, Taffy Brown," rejoined Fred, flushing at the charge.

"Besides, Bart can't whip Fred," interposed Buttons.

"He can't, eh? Bart Montgomery can whip any boy in the Second Form, and all but Sandow Hill in the First," returned Taffy.

"Guess again," derided several of Fred's followers.

"I'll go sodas for the entire Form that Fred can lick Bart!" Soda exclaimed.

The size of the wager for a moment dampened Taffy's ardor, and he growled:

"If Fred wanted to fight Bart, why didn't he wait till after school?"

"I'll tell you why, Taffy Brown," retorted Fred hotly. "I'm not going to stand by and let any one make such a statement about my father, no matter where it is or who is 'round."

These words, backed by the defiant determination expressed by Fred's face and attitude, brought a cheer from his supporters, while Bart's howled in derision.

"If you think I am afraid of Bart, I'll fool you!" exclaimed Fred, flushing. "I'll meet him to-night at seven, at The Patch."

"And I'll wager sodas for the Second Form, girls barred, against Taffy!" cried Soda.

"I'll just go you, but it's a shame to take your money, Soda. You'd better have any one who believes in Fred chip in, so you won't have to lose so much; sodas for ten Seconds will cost one dollar."

"Which you will have to pay," rejoined Fred's champion.

"Hooray! Here's Bart now!" shouted somebody who had seen the boy emerge from the building.

Instantly all eyes were focused upon the tall form of the boy who had just left the headmaster, while many were the surmises as to what had transpired at the interview. As Bart drew near, the scholars noticed that his swarthy face was flushed.

"I'll bet the Head gave him a fierce trimming," whispered Soda. But his remark was lost in the babel of voices that demanded to know what Mr. Vining had said.

Bart, however, was in no mood to gratify their curiosity, and, with only unintelligible mumbles in response to the questions, stalked moodily away among the trees, looking neither to the right nor to the left.

"My eye! but the Head must have scorched him!" commented Buttons.

"Well, he ought to," asserted Soda.

"It was Bart's fault, anyway. He had no business to——"

The opinion was never expressed, however, for suddenly a voice called:

"Fred, why don't you come to me when I send for you?"

And turning toward the direction whence it came, the boys beheld the headmaster standing on the porch of the building.

"I didn't know you had sent for me, Mr. Vining," responded Fred, pushing aside his fellows. "I thought you did not want me for half an hour."

"I asked Bart to tell you to come right in."

"I didn't hear him, sir. I am sorry."

"That shows just how white Fred is," declared Buttons vehemently. "He wouldn't say Bart didn't tell him—just said he didn't hear him."

"And it shows how mean Bart is," added Soda.

Regardless of their support of the two leaders of the Second Form, Baxter boys and girls were noted for their love of fair play, and this exhibition of pettiness by Bart surprised them into silence, which lasted until the headmaster and Fred were lost to sight within the school building.

Mr. Vining's office was on the right of the hallway, near the entrance, and although it was tastefully furnished, so intimately associated was it with reprimands and explanations that none of the scholars ever noticed how comfortable and attractive it was.

Pointing to a bench, the headmaster indicated to Fred to be seated, and himself dropping into a Morris chair, he studied the boy's face a moment before saying:

"Did I understand you to say that Bart did not tell you to come to me?"

"I said I did not hear him, sir."

"But you would have, had he done so?"

"The boys were calling out to him, so I couldn't hear very well."

"You're the same Fred, aren't you?" smiled Mr. Vining at the boy's refusal to implicate one of his fellow students. "Now tell me how the trouble started."

"I can't, sir!"

"Why?"

"Because I was not there when it began."

But Fred did not hesitate to describe his own actions.

"I'm sorry," commented the headmaster, when the recital was finished. "I'm afraid you will be obliged to hear a good many unpleasant——"

"But my father is not dishonest," interrupted Fred.

"It is natural for you to think so," returned Mr. Vining noncommittally. "As I said when I came upon you and Bart, you Second Form boys should set an example by obeying the rules. You know fighting in front of the school is forbidden, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why were you going to?"

"Because I shall defend my father's name anywhere, Mr. Vining."

"H'm! Baxter rules are made to be obeyed, Fred. To prevent a recurrence of this morning's scene, I must ask you to give me your word not to fight with Bart."

"I can't, sir."

"Why?"

"Because when the boys said I only stood up against Bart after having seen you coming——"

"Is that true?" interrupted Mr. Vining.

"No, sir. I was too busy watching Bart to see any one else."

"H'm. Go on."

"I said I would fight him to-night at seven."

IF YOU FIGHT, FRED, I SHALL SUSPEND YOU

Several minutes the headmaster gazed at the serious, manly face of the boy before him, then said:

"If you fight, Fred, I shall suspend you. Now you may go."

CHAPTER III

FRED'S SACRIFICE

It was with lagging feet and heavy heart that Fred left the office of the headmaster.

Bart's aspersions on his father had hurt him deeply, and Mr. Vining's refusal to agree with his own opinion of his parent's honesty had surprised him. But the deepest cut of all was the threat to suspend him should he fight with Bart. If he obeyed the headmaster, he knew all too well that his fellow students—that is, all except Margie—would attribute his action to fear of Bart, and he was also familiar enough with the nature of his rival to realize he would lose no opportunity to twist events to his own advantage.

Such a combination of circumstances was enough to perplex an older head than Fred's, and as he descended the steps, he felt a keen resentment against the headmaster for placing him in such a position. It was with relief, however, that he saw Margie had drawn the other girls off to a spot where they would be out of earshot, for he dreaded their scrutiny more than the rough comments of his fellows.

"He looks as solemn as an owl," exclaimed Buttons, who with Soda and his other staunch supporters had been awaiting his coming.

"The Head must be in a fierce frame of mind to-day," commented another.

"No wonder, with Fred and Bart getting into a mix-up at the very opening of school," returned Soda.

"Well, let's show Fred we intend to stand by him," exclaimed Buttons.

This suggestion met with ready response, and, with a rush, Fred's adherents gathered about him.

"Get a trimming?" queried one of them.

"Worse than that," responded Fred soberly. "I can't defend my father and myself against Bart."

"Whe-ew! How Bart and his crowd will crow!" lamented Soda. And from the expressions on the faces of the others it was evident he had voiced their sentiments.

"But why can't you? What did the Head say?" demanded Buttons.

Eagerly the others looked toward Fred.

"I will be suspended if I fight."

"Jumping grasshoppers! but that is a bad one!"

It had been the proud boast of Baxter that never but once had a student been suspended, whereas in the rival school of Landon suspensions were of almost yearly occurrence. The boys grew silent in the contemplation of the penalty.

It was at this juncture that the First Form students, led by Sandow Hill, reached the steps. With the majority of them Fred was a favorite, and as they noticed the serious expressions on the faces of the Second Form boys, several of them asked:

"What's the trouble? Why so glum, Cotton-Top?"