The New Boy at Hilltop, and Other Stories

The ball hovered in the middle of the floor, passed from side to side. Then Hurd of Upper secured it, and, with a shout to Knox, sped, dribbling, down the side line. But a red-shirted youth sprang in front of him and the two went to the floor together, while the ball bounded into the ready hands of Jim Marble.

"Oh, good work, Joe!" shouted Kenneth, as Joe sprang to his feet and dived again into the play.

Jim, taking long and desperate chances, tried for a basket from near the center of the floor and missed by a bare six inches. A groan went up from the supporters of the Red, while Upper House sighed its relief. Then there was a mix-up under Upper's goal and the whistle shrilled.

"Double foul!" called the referee.

A sudden stillness fell over the hall. Not a few of the players sank to the floor where they stood, while Knox picked up the ball and advanced to the line. Kenneth, watching with his heart in his throat, had a vague impression of Jim Marble bending across the rail in consultation with one of the Faculty. Then the ball rose gently from Knox's hands, arched in its flight and came down square on the rim of the basket. For a moment it poised there while hearts stood still. Then it toppled gently over the side to the floor. Knox had missed!

Lower House set up a frantic chorus of triumph. If only Marble or Collier could succeed where Knox had failed! But neither Jim nor the left guard was going to try, it seemed. For over at the Red's bench a lithe form was peeling off his sweater, and in a moment the cry swept the hall:

"Garwood's going to throw! Garwood! Garwood!"

"It's all right," Jim had whispered. "I asked the doc. Do your best. If you make it we win, Garwood!"

Kenneth, his pulses far from calm, walked out on the floor and picked up the ball. The shouting died away and the sudden stillness seemed appalling. He toed the black streak across the boards and measured the distance to the basket. Then, his legs astraddle, his knees slightly bent, he swung the ball once—twice—

There was a moment of suspense, and then—

Then pandemonium broke loose! The ball dropped to the floor unheeded, but above it the tattered meshes of the netting swayed where it had struck them going through! It was the cleanest kind of a basket, and it won the game and the series and the Shield for Lower House!

Kenneth, fighting off the howling fellows who would have perched him on their shoulders, caught a glimpse of his father's amused face, and broke for the stairway.

THE PROVING OF JERRY

"I'm awfully sorry," said Ned Gaynor earnestly, "but it isn't as though you had been blackballed, Jerry."

"I don't see what difference it makes," replied Gerald Hutton disconsolately. "I don't get taken in, do I?"

"No, but when a fellow's name is 'postponed' he can try again any time. If he's blackballed, he's a goner until next year."

"Oh, well, I don't want to join the old Lyceum, anyhow," said his roommate with a scowl.

"Yes, you do," responded Ned, "and I want you to. And I'm going to bring your name up again just as soon as I think there's a chance of getting you elected."

"When will that be?" asked Jerry dubiously. Ned hesitated.

"I don't just know, Jerry," he answered finally. "You see, it's like this; the Lyceum is the only society we have here at Winthrop, and it's small, only thirty members, you know, while there are over seventy fellows in school this year. So of course there are lots of chaps who want to get in. And when it comes to selecting members the society naturally tries to get the best."

"Which means I'm not one of the best," said Jerry with a grin.

"No, it doesn't," replied his roommate. "It just means that you aren't very well known yet; you haven't proved yourself."

"Shucks! I've been here ever since school opened in September, and I know almost every fellow here to speak to."

"Well, but that isn't quite what I mean," replied Ned. "You—you haven't proved yourself."

"What do you mean by 'proved myself'?" asked Jerry.

"Well, you haven't done anything to—to show what you are. I can't explain very well, but—"

"What the dickens do you want me to do? Burn down Academy Hall or chuck one of the Faculty in the river?" inquired Jerry sarcastically.

"Oh, you know what I mean," answered Ned a trifle impatiently. "Sooner or later a fellow does something worth while, like getting a scholarship or making the Eleven or the Baseball Team. Then he's proved himself. You've been here only half a year, and, of course, yon haven't made yourself known."

"I've done my best," replied Jerry disconsolately. "I worked like a slave for two weeks trying to get on the Football Team, and I almost broke my neck learning to skate well enough so I'd have a show for the Hockey Team."

"Maybe you'll make the Nine," said Ned hopefully. "I guess if you do that there won't be any trouble about the Lyceum."

"I'll never get on the Nine while Herb Welch is captain," said Jerry with a shake of his head. "He doesn't care for me much."

"Well, I guess that's so," answered Ned thoughtfully. "The fact is, Jerry, it was Herb who objected to your election to the Lyceum."

"I guessed as much," Jerry replied dryly. "I knew he'd keep me out if he could. Just as he will keep me off the Nine."

"Oh, come now, Herb isn't that bad. He's sort of rough and bossy, but he's straight, Jerry. He was very decent at the election. He simply said—"

"I don't want to hear what he said," interrupted Jerry peevishly. "He's a big bully. He's hated me ever since I interfered the time he was ducking young Gordon. Gordon couldn't swim, and he was so scared that his face was as white as that block of paper."

"Well, it was pretty cheeky for a Sophomore to lay down the law to a

Senior, you know," said Ned.

"And it was pretty mean of a Senior to haze a Freshman, wasn't it?" Jerry demanded. "Anyhow, I spoiled his fun for him."

"And got ducked yourself," laughed the other.

"That was all right. I could swim and wasn't afraid. I was better able to take it than young Gordon was. Ever since then Welch has had it in for me. I dare say that if I went and licked his boots he'd let me into the Lyceum and give me a fair show for the Nine, but I'm not going to do it. I can play baseball, and I'd like to make the team, but if it depends on my toadying to Welch, why, I'll stay off, that's all."

"Oh, come now, it isn't as bad as that," responded Ned. "Don't you bother. I'll get you elected before Class Day, Jerry. Grab your skates and come on down to the river."

"Skates!" exclaimed Jerry. "Why, you can't skate to-day. The ice is all breaking up. Look at it!"

From the dormitory window the river was visible for a quarter of a mile as it curved slowly to the south between Winthrop Academy and the town bridge. It was late February, and for two days the mercury had lingered around fifty degrees. Along the nearest shore the ice still held, but in midstream and across by the Peterboro side the river, swollen by melting snow and ice, flowed in a turbid, ice-strewn torrent. For a while at noon the sun had shone, but now, at four o'clock, the clouds had gathered and the moist air coming in at the open window of the room suggested rain.

"There's plenty of ice along this bank," answered Ned cheerfully, "and as it may be the last chance I'll get to skate I'm going to make the most of it. I promised Tom Thurber and Herb Welch I'd meet them at four. I must get a move on." He closed the book before him and arose from the study table. "You'd better come along, Jerry."

But Jerry shook his head, staring moodily out over the dreary prospect of wet campus and slushy road. A mile away the little town of Peterboro lay straggling along the river, the chimneys of its three or four factories spouting thick black smoke into the heavy air. Jerry was disappointed. It meant a good deal to win election to the Lyceum, and, in spite of what he had told Ned, he had all along entertained a sneaking idea that he would make it, Welch or no Welch. He wondered whether Ned couldn't have got him in if he had tried real hard. Ned and he were very good friends, even though they had never met until they had been roomed together in the fall, but Jerry was a new boy still, while Ned was a Junior and had known Herb Welch three years.

"I suppose," he thought, "Ned didn't want to offend Welch. Much he cares whether I'm elected or not!"

"Coming?" asked Ned, pausing at the door. Jerry shook his head.

"No, I guess not. I think I'll walk over to town and get some things."

"Well, buy me half a dozen blue books, will you?" asked Ned eagerly. He tossed a coin across and Jerry caught it deftly and dropped it into his pocket with a nod. Ned slammed the door behind him and went clattering downstairs. Jerry watched him emerge below, jump a miniature rivulet flowing beside the board walk and disappear around the corner of the dormitory. Then he got into his sweater, put his cap on, and in turn descended the stairs.

It was a good twenty-minutes walk to the village. By keeping along the river path to the bridge he might have saved something in time and distance, but the river path was ankle-deep in slush and mud, while the road, although longer, gave firmer foothold. When he reached the old wooden bridge he paused and watched the water rushing under between the stone pillars. He had never seen the stream so high. The surface appeared scarcely eight feet beneath the floor of the bridge. Huge cakes of ice, broken loose upstream, went tearing by, grinding against each other and hurling themselves at the worn stones. And between the fragments of ice the surface was almost covered with a layer of slush. Jerry flattened himself against the wooden railing while a team of sweating horses, tugging a great load of hay, went creaking by him. Then he followed it across and turned to the right at the end of the bridge into the main street of the town.