The Heroes of the School: or, The Darewell Chums Through Thick and Thin. Chapman Allen
the firecracker slide and turned out the stereopticon. Then Ned did a manly thing.
“Professor Long,” he called, out of the darkness. “I want to apologize to you and the class. I put the wrong picture into the pile. I’m sorry and I’ll not do it again.”
A silence ensued. The boys wondered at Ned’s pluck in acknowledging his fault. But then he and his chums were that kind of boys.
“I can’t excuse your conduct under any circumstances, Wilding,” said Professor Long, sternly. “Still I will admit I like your manliness in admitting your fault. In view of what you have said, and as it is evident the other boys had no hand in it, I will go on with the lecture. But I must ask you to withdraw, and, as a punishment you will write out fifty lines of Cæsar after school.”
It was a task that made some of the boys catch their breaths. But Ned felt he deserved it, though he said to himself the joke was worth it. He left the laboratory, and the lecture went on. He remained after school and completed his penance. Professor Long, who had some experiments to prepare for the next week’s work, had also stayed after school.
“Don’t do it again, Wilding,” was all he said, and Ned was almost sure he saw the teacher smile.
Ned found his chums waiting for him. They were a little diffident about referring to the joke, but Ned had no such scruples.
“That was a sort of a boomerang,” he remarked. “I spent fifty cents getting that slide, and to think how it turned out! Long is pretty touchy when it comes to his lectures. I guess I’ll not monkey with ’em again.”
“Well, you missed a lot of fun,” said Frank slowly. “He told us a lot of interesting stuff about volcanoes.”
“Bet none of ’em could match mine,” came from Ned, with a laugh. “Mine was up-to-date.”
“What you going to do to-morrow?” asked Bart of his friends.
“Nothing special,” replied Ned.
“Can’t we arrange a ball game?” inquired Fenn.
“I tried to but couldn’t,” said Bart. “Supposing we all go fishing?”
“Fine!” was the general cry.
“All right, meet at the Point, with lines and poles, at nine o’clock to-morrow and we’ll go to the Riffles.”
The Point was a tongue of land extending out into the river about a mile above the town. It was a favorite place for swimming as there was a sort of sandy beach there. The Riffles were a series of shallow spots about two miles above the point, and from there on up was good fishing. The river near the Riffles ran through a dense woods which were seldom visited.
Promptly on time the boys were at the meeting place. They had with them everything needed for a day’s fishing, from bait and poles to a lunch for themselves, as they did not intend coming back until afternoon.
The boys tramped through the woods toward the fishing holes, which they had often visited. They were talking of the events of the previous day at school, and Ned was explaining over again how he substituted the wrong picture slide.
“Here, where are you boys going?” a voice suddenly hailed them from the bushes that lined the path they were traveling.
They looked up, to see an old man, with a white straggling beard, which fell almost to his waist, peering at them. He was half hidden by the underbrush.
“Where you going?” he repeated.
“Fishing,” replied Ned.
“Whereabouts?”
“Up at the Riffles,” said Fenn.
“Better not,” cautioned the aged person. “It’s a dangerous place.”
The man stepped forth into full view. The boys saw he was poorly dressed. His trousers were quite ragged and his coat was torn in several places. He wore no hat.
“What makes you think so?” asked Frank.
“Don’t let it be known,” the old man went on, “but the King of Paprica holds dominion over the Riffles. He has forbidden any one, under pain of being fed to the sacred crocodile, from taking the green bull frog from the pool.”
“He’s crazy,” whispered Bart.
“But we’re after fish, not bull frogs,” interposed Frank, who seemed inclined to humor the strange man.
“Oh, in that case, don’t forget to bait your hooks with soft soap,” said the old man, as he held up a warning finger. “Now remember, not a word to the King of Paprica if you meet him. He knows I’m here on guard, so don’t tell him,” and with that the old man, winking at Frank as though there was a good joke between them, vanished amid the bushes.
“Well, of all queer things,” said Ned softly.
“He’s daffy,” spoke Bart. “Escaped from some asylum, I suppose. However he looks harmless. Come on, we don’t want to get mixed up with him. We’re out for fish.”
“I’d like to find out more about him,” came from Frank. “He winked at me as though it was some sort of a trick.”
“Yes, the kind Ned played yesterday,” exclaimed Frank.
“No more from yours truly,” uttered the perpetrator of the wrong slide. “No more jokes for a while. I’m going fishing. Come on.”
CHAPTER IV
A HUT IN THE WOODS
The boys tried to learn in which direction the old man had gone, but he was not in sight. They listened to hear if he was tramping through the bushes, but there was not a sound.
“Looks as though he went through a hole in the earth,” spoke Fenn. “But never mind. His keepers are probably after him. He seems harmless enough.”
“Sometimes that’s the worst kind,” commented Ned. “We had better be on the lookout for him. He might come upon us unexpectedly.”
But the boys reached the Riffles a little while after this, and, in the excitement of hauling out a number of fish, for the sport was good, they forgot about the queer old man.
“I wonder who he could have been?” asked Frank, after a silence of half an hour following the landing of several chub and perch.
“Who?” asked Ned.
“The King of Paprica.”
“Oh, him. I’d forgotten all about it. What makes you keep thinking of it?”
“I can’t help it,” replied Frank, so solemnly that his chums looked at him in some surprise.
“I believe there is something about that man which will bear investigating. No one ever heard of a crazy person being loose in these woods before, and there’s no lunatic asylum near by from which he could have escaped. I tell you it looks queer.”
“Sometimes lunatics travel hundreds of miles,” put in Bart. “I read of one, once, that escaped, and was found a good while afterward in some place in Europe.”
“Say, did we come here to talk about odd folks or to fish?” asked Ned somewhat sharply. “If we’re going to fish let’s do it. All this talk will scare ’em away.”
“That’s what I say,” added Fenn. “Let’s finish up and go home.”
“Got a date to take a walk and gather wild flowers with some girl, Stumpy?” asked Frank.
“Well, it’s as much fun as talking about a crazy man,” retorted Fenn.
“Whoop! I’ve got a big one!” ejaculated Ned, and he pulled a wiggling beauty ashore.
It was the best catch so far, and the other boys congratulated Ned on his luck. Several other large-sized fish were pulled out after that until the boys’ baskets were nearly full.
“Haven’t we got plenty?” asked Frank. “Let’s quit and eat.”
“Good