The Chums of Scranton High at Ice Hockey written by Donald Ferguson
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Donald Ferguson >> The Chums of Scranton High at Ice Hockey
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9 THE CHUMS OF SCRANTON HIGH
At Ice Hockey
BY
DONALD FERGUSON
THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO.
CLEVELAND, O. NEW YORK, N.Y.
Copyright, MCMXIX
by
THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO.
Printed in the United States of America
by
THE COMMERCIAL BOOKBINDING CO.
CLEVELAND, O.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. GOOD TIMES COMING
II. A BULL IN THE CHINA SHOP
III. GIVING NICK A CHANCE
IV. THE HOCKEY MATCH WITH A SCRATCH SEVEN
V. THAD BRINGS SOME STARTLING NEWS
VI. NOT GUILTY
VII. TURNING A PAGE OF THE PAST
VIII. OWEN DUGDALE'S ANNOUNCEMENT
IX. AN ADVENTURE ON THE ROAD
X. THE MYSTERY DEEPENS
XI. A MOTHER'S SACRIFICE
XII. TIP SATISFIES HIS CRAVING--AND LOSES
XIII. THE LIVELY GAME WITH KEYPORT'S SEVEN
XIV. ENCOURAGING NICK
XV. WHERE THE SPARKS FLEW
XVI. AT THE DEACON'S FIRESIDE
XVII. A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY
XVIII. IN A SAFE HARBOR AT LAST
XIX. MEETING BELLEVILLE'S STRONG TEAM
XX. NICK MAKES GOOD--CONCLUSION
THE CHUMS OF SCRANTON HIGH AT ICE HOCKEY
CHAPTER I
GOOD TIMES COMING
Hugh looked at the big thermometer alongside the Juggins' front door
as he came out, and the mercury was still falling steadily.
"It's certainly a whole lot sharper than it was early this morning,
Thad. Feels to me as if the first cold wave of the winter had struck
Scranton."
"The ice on our flooded baseball field, and that out at Hobson's
mill-pond ought to be in great shape after a hard freeze to-night,
Hugh."
"We're in luck this time, chum Thad. Look at that sky, will you?
Never a cloud in sight, and the sun going down yellow. Deacon
Winslow, our reliable old weather prophet blacksmith, who always
keeps a goose-bone hanging up in his smithy, to tell what sort of a
winter we're going to get, says such a sign stands for cold and clear
to-morrow after that kind of a sunset. Red means warmer, you know."
"I only hope it keeps on for forty-eight hours more, that's all I can
say, Hugh. This being Thursday, it would fetch us to Saturday. I
understand they're not meaning to let a single pair of steel runners
on the baseball park, to mark the smooth surface of the new ice,
until Saturday morning."
"Which will be a fine thing for our hockey try-out with the scratch
Seven, eh, Thad?"
"We want to test our team play before going up against the boys of
Keyport High, that's a fact; and Scranton can put up a hard fighting
bunch of irregulars. There are some mighty clever hockey players in
and out of the high school, who are not on our Seven. I guess there
ought to be a pretty lively game on Saturday; and there will be if
several fellows I could mention line up against us."
The two boys who had just left the home of a schoolmate named Horatio
Juggins were great friends. Although Hugh Morgan had seemed to jump
into popular leadership among the boys of Scranton, soon after his
folks came to reside in the town, he and Thad Stevens had become
almost inseparables.
Indeed, some of the fellows often regarded them as "Damon and
Pythias," or on occasions it might be "David and Jonathan." Both
were of an athletic turn, and took prominent parts in all baseball
games, and other strenuous outdoor sports indulged in by the boys of
Scranton High; a record of which will be found in the several
preceding books of this series, to which the new reader is referred,
if he feels any curiosity concerning the earlier doings of this
lively bunch.
Hugh was cool and calm in times when his chum would show visible
signs of great excitement. He had drilled himself to control his
temper under provocation, until he felt master of himself.
It was the 10th of January, and thus far the opportunities for
skating that had come to the young people of that section of country
where Scranton was located, had been almost nil; which would account
for the enthusiasm of the lads when Thad announced how rapidly the
thermometer was giving promise of a severe cold spell.
Scranton had two keen rivals for athletic honors. Allandale and
Belleville High fellows had given them a hard run of it before they
carried off the championship pennant of the county in baseball the
preceding summer.
Then, in the late fall, there had been a wonderfully successful
athletic tournament, inaugurated to celebrate the enclosing of the
grounds outside Scranton with a high board-fence, and the building of
a splendid grandstand, as well as rooms where the athletic
participants in sports might dress in comfort.
With the coming of winter the big field thus enclosed had been
properly flooded, so that it might afford a vast amount of healthy
recreation to all Scranton boys and girls who loved to skate.
Hitherto they had been compelled to trudge all the way out to
Hobson's mill-pond, and back, which was a long enough journey to keep
many from ever thinking of indulging in what is, perhaps, the most
cherished winter sport among youthful Americans.
The two friends had been asked around by the Juggins boy to inspect a
wonderful assortment of treasure trove that an old and peculiar
uncle, with a fad for collecting curios of every description, and who
was at present out in India, had sent to his young nephew and
namesake.
These consisted of scores of most interesting objects, besides
several thousand rare postage stamps. Taken in all it was the
greatest collection of stamps any of them had ever heard of. And the
other things proved of such absorbing interest that Hugh and Thad had
lingered until the afternoon was done, with supper not so far away
but that they must hurry home.
Thad, apparently, had something on his mind which he wished to get
rid of, judging from the way in which he several times looked queerly
at his chum. Finally, as if determined to speak up, he started, half
apologetically:
"Hugh, excuse me if I'm butting in where I have no business," he
said; "but when I saw you talking so long with that town bully, Nick
Lang, this afternoon, after we got out of school, I didn't know what
to think. Was he threatening you about anything, Hugh? After that
fine dressing-down you gave Nick last summer, when he forced you to
fight him while we were out at that barn dance, I notice he keeps
fairly mum when you're around."
Hugh chuckled, as though the recollection might not be wholly
displeasing; though, truth to tell, that was the only fight he had
been in since coming to Scranton. Even it would not have taken place
only that he could not stand by and see the big bully thrash most
cruelly a weaker boy than himself.
"Oh! no, you're away off in your guess, Thad," he replied
immediately. "Fact is, instead of threats, Nick was asking a favor
of me, for once in his life."
"You don't say!" ejaculated Thad. "Well, now you've got me excited
there's nothing left but to tell me what sort of a favor Nick would
want of you, Hugh."
"It seems that for a long time he's been admiring those old hockey
skates of mine," continued the other. "In fact, they've grown on
Nick so that he even condescended to ask me to _sell_ them to him for
a dollar, which he said he'd earned by doing odd jobs, just in order
to buy my old skates. He chanced to hear me say once that my mother
had promised to get me the best silver-plated hockey skates on the
market, for my next birthday, which is now only a few days off.
That's all there was to it, Thad."
"Well," commented Thad, "we all know that Nick is a boss skater, even
on the old runners he sports, and which mebbe his dad used before
him, they're that ancient. He can hold his own with the next one
whenever there's any ice worth using. And as to hockey, why, if Nick
would only play fair, which he never will, it seems because his
nature must be warped and crooked, he could have a leading place on
our Seven. As it is, the boys refused to stand for him in any game,
and so he had to herd with the scratch players. Even then Mr.
Leonard, our efficient coach and trainer, has to call him down good
and hard for cheating, or playing off-side purposely. It's anything
to win, with Nick."
"You're painting Nick pretty true to life, Thad," agreed Hugh;
"though I'm sorry it's so, I've got a hunch that chap, if he only
could be reconstructed in some way or other, might be a shining mark
in many of our athletic games."
"Oh! that's hopeless, Hugh, I tell you. The leopard can't change its
spots; and Nick Lang was born to be just the tricky bully he's always
shown himself."
Hugh shook his head, as though not quite agreeing with his chum.
"Time alone will tell, Thad. There might come a sudden revolution in
Nick's way of seeing things. I've heard of boys who were said to be
the worst in the town taking a turn, and forging up to the head.
It's improbable, I admit, but not impossible."
"Oh! he's bad all the way through, believe me, Hugh. But did you
sell the skates, as he wanted you to do?"
"No, I told him I didn't care to," Hugh replied. "I was tempted to
agree when he looked so bitterly disappointed; then an ugly scowl
came over his face, and he broke away and left me; so that
opportunity was lost. Besides, it's best not to be too sure I'm
going to get those silver-plated skates after all, though Mom is
looking pretty mysterious these days; and some sort of package came
to her by express from New York the other day. She hurried it away
before I could even see the name printed on the wrapper."
"Perhaps," said Thad a bit wistfully, "you might bequeath me your old
skates in case you do get new ones. Mine are not half as good for
hockey. I don't blame Nick for envying you their possession; but
then it hasn't been so much what you had on your feet that has made
you the swift hockey player you are, but coolness of judgment,
ability to anticipate the moves of the enemy, and a clever stroke
that can send the puck skimming over the ice like fury."
"Here, that'll do for you, Thad. No bouquets needed, thank you, all
the same. According to my notion there are several fellows in
Scranton my equals at hockey, and perhaps my superiors. Nick Lang,
for instance, if only he had skates he could depend on, and which
wouldn't threaten to trip him up in the midst of an exciting
scrimmage."
"But, see here, Hugh, you were speaking just now about a chap built
like Nick turning over a new leaf, and making himself respected in
the community in spite of the bad name he's always had. Honestly
now, do you really believe that's possible? Is there such a thing as
the regeneration of a boy who's been born bad, and always taken
delight in doing every sort of mean thing on the calendar? I can't
believe it."
Hugh Morgan turned and gave his chum a serious look.
"I've got a good mind to tell you something that's been on my mind
lately," he said.
CHAPTER II
A BULL IN THE CHINA SHOP
On hearing his chum say that, Thad gripped Hugh's arm.
"Then get busy, Hugh," he hastened to remark. "When you start
cogitating over things there's always something interesting on foot.
What is it this time?"
"Oh! just a little speculation I've been indulging in, Thad, and on
the very subject we were talking about--whether a really bad man, or
boy, for that matter, can ever turn right-about-face, and redeem
himself. You say it's impossible; I think otherwise."
"Tell me a single instance, then, Hugh."
"Just what I'm meaning to do," came the ready response, "but it's in
romance, not history; though there are just as strong instances that
can be proven. I've heard my father mention some of them long ago.
But it happens, Thad, that I've been reading over, for the third
time, a book we once enjoyed together immensely. We got a splendid
set of Victor Hugo's works lately at our house, you remember."
"Oh!" exclaimed Thad, "you're referring to his _Les Miserables_, I
guess. And now I remember how you said at the time we read it
together that the scene where that good priest forgave the rascally
Jean Valjean for stealing his silver candlesticks and spoons, after
he had been so kind to him made a great impression on your mind.
But, see here, Hugh, are you comparing that sneak Nick Lang to Jean
Valjean, the ex-convict?"
"Yes, in a way," the other replied. "The man who had been released
from the galleys, after he had served his term for stealing a loaf
of bread was despised by society, which shut the door in his face.
He was like a wild beast, you remember, and hated everyone. Well, by
degrees, Nick is finding himself in just about the same position.
Everybody looks on him as being thoroughly bad; and so he tells
himself that since he's got the name he might as well have the
game."
"I suppose that's about the way it goes," Thad admitted.
"There's no doubt of it," Hugh told him. "Several times I remember
we had an idea Nick meant to reform; but he went back to his old
ways suddenly. I think people must have nagged him, and made him
feel ugly. But I've been wondering, Thad, what if Nick could have a
revelation about like the one that came to Jean Valjean at the time
that splendid old priest, looking straight at the thief when the
officers dragged him back with those silver candlesticks and spoons
hidden under his dirty blouse, told them the men had committed no
wrong, because he, the priest, had given the silver to him; which we
know he _had_ done in his mind, after discovering how he had been
robbed."
Thad shook his head in a dogged fashion, as though by no means
convinced.
"I reckon you'd be just the one to try that crazy scheme, Hugh, if
ever the chance came to you; but mark me when I say it'd all be
wasted on Nick."
"But why should you be so sure of that?" asked the other. "The
ex-convict was pictured as the lowest of human animals. Hugo painted
him as hating every living being, because of his own wrongs; and
believing that there was no such thing as honor and justice among
mankind. It was done to make his change of heart seem all the more
remarkable; to prove that a fellow can never sink so low but that
there _may_ be a chance for him to climb up again, if only he makes
up his mind."
Thad laughed then, a little skeptically still, it must be confessed.
"Oh! that sounds all very fine, in a story, Hugh, but it'd never
work out in real life. According to my mind that Nick Lang will go
along to the end of the book as a bad egg. He'll fetch up in the
penitentiary, or reform school, some of these fine days. I've heard
Chief Wambold has declared that the next time he has anything
connected with breaking the law on Nick he expects to take him
before the Squire, and have him railroaded to the Reformatory; and
he means it, too."
"Well, you can hardly blame the Chief," agreed Hugh, "because Nick
and his pals, Leon Disney and Tip Slavin, have certainly made life
hard for the police force of Scranton for years back. Brush fires
have been started maliciously, just to see the fire-laddies run with
the machine and create a little excitement; orchards have been
robbed time and again; and, in fact, dozens of pranks more or less
serious been played night after night, all of which mischief is laid
at the door of Nick Lang, even if much of it can't be actually
traced there."
"Of course, what you say is the exact truth, Hugh."
"Give dog Tray a bad name, and he gets it right and left," chuckled
Hugh. "I've had an idea that once in a while some of the more
respected fellows in town may have broken loose, and gone on night
expeditions. They felt pretty safe in doing it, because every
citizen would believe Nick was the guilty one. But, in spite of your
thinking my idea impossible, I'd be tempted to try it out, if ever I
ran across the chance. It'd settle a thing I've worried over more
than a little."
No more was said on that subject, though afterwards Thad had it
brought to his attention again, and in a peculiar way at that.
The two boys separated a little further on, each heading homeward.
On the following morning it was found that their predictions
concerning the weather had been amply verified. The mercury had
dropped away down in the tube of the thermometer, and every
youngster had a happy look on his or her face at school, as though
the prospect for skating brought almost universal satisfaction.
Thad, with several others, had gone out to Hobson's mill-pond to try
the new ice after high school had dismissed for the week-end. Hugh
wanted to accompany them very much, but he had promised his mother
to spend a couple of hours that afternoon in mending something,
which had gone for a long time. And once his word was given Hugh
never broke it, no matter how alluring the prospect of sport might
be abroad.
It was about half-past three in the afternoon.
Hugh sat in his den amidst his prized possessions. He was working on
his lessons so as to get them out of the way, as there was some sort
of affair scheduled for that evening, which he meant to attend; and
he would be too tired after skating all day on Saturday to study any
that night, as he well knew.
Several times he glanced over to where his carefully polished and
well-sharpened skates, strapped together, lay on a side table. Each
look caused him to shrug his shoulders a bit. He could easily
imagine he heard the delightful clang of steel runners cutting into
that smooth sheet of new ice out at the mill pond; and the figures
of the happy skaters would pass before his eyes. Yes, probably Sue
Barnes would be there, too, with her chums, Ivy Middleton and Peggy
Noland, wondering, it might be, how he, Hugh, could deny himself
such a glorious opportunity for the first real good skate of the
season.
Then Hugh would heave a little sigh, and apply himself harder than
ever to his task. When he had an unpleasant thing to do he never
allowed temptation to swerve him. And, after all, it was pretty snug
and comfortable there in his den, Hugh told himself; besides, that
was a long walk home for a tired fellow to take, even in good
company.
Then he heard his mother speaking to someone who must have rung the
doorbell.
"Go up to the top of the stairs, and turn to the right. You will
find Hugh in his den, I believe. Hugh, are you there? Well, here's a
visitor to see you."
Supposing, of course, that it must be one of his close friends, who
for some reason had not gone off skating, and wished to see him
about some matter of importance, Hugh, after answering his mother,
had gone on skimming the subject on which his mind just then
happened to be set.
He heard the door open, and close softly. Then someone gave a gruff
cough. Hugh looked around and received quite a surprise.
Instead of Thad Stevens, Owen Dugdale, Horatio Juggins, "Just"
Smith, or Julius Hobson he saw--Nick Lang!
"Oh, hello, Nick!" he commenced to say, a little restrained in his
welcome; for, of course, he could give a guess that the other had
come again to try and buy his skates, which Hugh was not much in
favor of selling.
He shoved a chair forward, determined not to be uncivil at any rate.
After that talk with Thad about this fellow it can be understood
that Hugh was still bent on studying Nick, with the idea of deciding
whether he did actually have a grain of decency in his make-up, such
as could be used as a foundation on which to build a new structure.
The outlook was far from promising. Indeed, he could not remember
ever seeing Nick look more antagonistic than just then, even though
he tried to appear friendly.
"But then," Hugh was telling himself, "I reckon now Jean Valjean was
about as fierce looking a human wild beast as that good old priest
had ever seen at the time he invited the ex-convict into his snug
house, and horrified his sister by asking him to sit at table with
them, and spend the night there under his hospitable roof."
"You wanted to see me about something, did you, Nick?" he asked the
other.
Nick had dropped down on the chair. His furtive gaze went around
the room as if it aroused his curiosity, for this was really the
first occasion when he had ever graced Hugh's den with his company.
When his eyes alighted on the coveted skates Nick's face took on an
expressive grin. Then he turned toward Hugh, to say, almost
whiningly:
"Sure thing, Hugh. I thought mebbe I'd coax you to let me have the
skates, if I told you I'd managed to get another half dollar by
selling a pair of my pigeons. Here's a dollar and a half; take it,
and gimme the runners, won't you?"
His manner was intended to be ingratiating, but evidently Nick was
so accustomed to bullying everyone with whom he came in contact that
it was next to impossible for him to change his abusive ways. Hugh
felt less inclined than ever to accommodate him. Under other and
more favorable conditions he might have been tempted to promise Nick
to hand him over the skates, _for nothing_, after he had actually
received the expected new ones.
"I'm sorry to refuse you again, Nick," Hugh said coldly; "but at
present I have no other skates, and, as I expect to take part in a
hockey match with the scratch Seven to-morrow, I'll need my
runners."
"But there's nothing to hinder you selling me the same, say next
week, that I can see; unless mebbe you're just holdin' out on
account of an old grudge against me. How about that, Hugh?"
Hugh was still unconvinced.
"Just now I'm not in a humor to sell the skates, Nick," he said.
"If I change my mind, I'll let you know about it. That's final. And
when I dispose of my skates it's my intention to _give_ them away,
not sell them."
He turned to do something at the desk where he was sitting.
Meanwhile, Nick had shuffled away, as though meaning to leave the
room. When Hugh looked up he was half-way through the door, and
turning to say with a sneer:
"I ain't going to forget this on you, Hugh Morgan, believe me. I
thought I'd give you a chanct to smooth over the rough places
between us; but I see you don't want anything to do with a feller
who's got the reputation they give me. All right, keep your old
skates then!"
With that he hurried down the stairs. And a minute afterwards Hugh,
happening to glance over to the table at the side of the room, made
a startling discovery. The skates had disappeared!
CHAPTER III
GIVING NICK A CHANCE
"Why, he cribbed them after all!" Hugh exclaimed, as he jumped to his
feet, and hurried over to the table, hardly able to believe his own
eyes.
Something caught his attention. A dirty dollar bill and a fifty cent
silver piece lay in place of the skates. Then Nick had not exactly
_stolen_ Hugh's property, but imagined that this forced sale might
keep him within the law.
Hugh at first flush felt indignant. He gave the money an angry look,
as though scorning it, despite the hard work Nick may have done and
sacrifices also made in order to build up that small amount.
"Why, the contemptible scamp, I'll have to set Chief Wambold after
him, and recover my skates!" he said, warmly for him. "Serve him
right, too, if this is the last straw on the camel's back, to send
him to the House of Refuge for a spell. He is a born thief, I do
believe, and ought to be treated just like one."
Hugh, aroused by the sense of injustice, and a desire to turn the
tables on the slippery Nick, even stepped forward to snatch up his
cap, with the full intention of hurrying out to see if he could
overtake the thief; and, if not, continuing on until he came to the
office of the police force. Then he stopped short with a gasp.
He had suddenly remembered something. Into his mind rushed the
details of a certain recent conversation in which he had indulged
with his closest chum, Thad Stevens. Again he saw the picture of
that good priest of the story, looking so benignly upon the wretched
Jean Valjean, brought into his presence with the valuable silver
candlesticks and spoons found in his possession, which he kept
insisting his late host had presented him with, however preposterous
the claim seemed.
"Why, this is very nearly like that case, I declare!" ejaculated
Hugh, almost overcome by the wonderful similarity, which seemed the
more amazing because of the resolution he told Thad he had taken.
He dropped back into his seat, with the money still gripped in his
hand. He stared hard at it. In imagination he could see Nick, who
never liked hard work any too well, they said, busying himself like a
beaver, putting in coal for some neighbor, perhaps; or cleaning a
walk off for a dime. He must have done considerable work to earn
that first dollar.
"Then after that," Hugh was saying to himself, "he sold a pair of his
pet pigeons, and I reckon he thinks a heap of them, from all I've
heard said. Yes, Nick must have wanted my old skates worse than he
ever did anything in all his life. And when I refused to sell them
to him he just thought he'd do the trading by himself. It's a queer
way of doing business, and one the law wouldn't recognize; but, after
all, it was an upward step for Nick Lang, when he could have taken
the skates, and kept the cash as well. This certainly beats the
Dutch! What ought I to do about it, I wonder? Of course, if I told
the whole thing to mother, I suppose she'd let me have the new skates
ahead of time; or I could borrow Kenneth Kinkaid's, because, after
breaking his leg that way in the running race he says he isn't to be
allowed to skate a bit this winter. But ought I let the scamp keep
my skates?"
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