The Putnam Hall Cadets: or, Good Times in School and Out

They stared at each other in dismay. They were in a pickle truly, and did not know how to help themselves.

CHAPTER XXVI

FRIENDS IN NEED

While the boys were staring around helplessly, and shaking from head to feet from the cold, Coulter espied another ice-boat coming along the lake shore.

“Let us stop those chaps!” he called. “Come on! Run!”

The others needed no second bidding. Anything was better than standing still, and they set off at a dog-trot, and soon came up to the ice-boat. It was a craft belonging to Bart Conners and some of his intimates.

“Stop! Stop!” yelled Coulter, Paxton, and Mumps. “Stop! There is open water ahead!”

These cries were heard, and without hesitation Bart Conners turned his craft into shore, allowing it to slide deep into a snowdrift.

“Oh, pshaw! Why didn’t we think to run our boat ashore?” muttered Coulter. Such a simple move had never entered the heads of the ill-fated trio.

“What’s the matter with you fellows?” demanded Bart Conners. “Why, you look frozen to death!”

“W – we are – al – almost!” gasped Paxton. “Ca – can’t you help us?”

“Did your boat go into the water?”

“Yes.”

“Here’s a blanket, we’ve been using it for a seat,” sang out a cadet in Conners’ crowd. “Wrap yourself in that.”

“Here’s my overcoat, Mumps,” said another. “I’ve got my sweater on and don’t need it.”

“Coulter, you can take my overcoat,” came from Bart Conners.

The three wet cadets were willing enough to don the things handed out to them. But even with these dry coverings all were intensely chilled.

“Jump on and we’ll take you back to the Hall as fast as we can,” said Conners. “It’s dreadful to take a plunge in the lake in such weather as this.”

“Who lent you the ice-boat?” asked a cadet in the crowd.

“Oh – we – er – we only thought we’d have a bit of fun,” stammered Mumps.

“Phew! if you took that boat without permission, I guess you got paid for it,” was Bart’s comment.

The ice-boat was turned back, and as speedily as it could be done, they brought the craft up to the Putnam Hall landing. Here they met Dale and Harry.

“What do you fellows mean by running off with our ice-boat?” demanded Dale.

“It was a mean piece of business,” put in Harry. “You ought to be pounded good for it!”

“Don’t scold them now,” said Bart. “They’ve been punished enough. They got a ducking in the ice-cold water.”

“Oh!”

“The ice-boat ran into the open water, and they might have been drowned, only the water wasn’t deep enough,” put in another cadet.

“Where is the ice-boat now?” questioned Dale.

“In the open water near shore. I guess you can pull her in by throwing a line over her,” answered Bart.

Like so many half-drowned rats, Paxton, Coulter, and Mumps sneaked into the Hall, and up to their rooms. The news soon circulated that they had fallen into the lake, and Captain Putnam ordered them to bed, and had Mrs. Green prepare some hot tea for them. In the meantime Dale and Harry took a ride on Bart’s ice-boat, and soon succeeded in hauling the overturned craft to the firm ice once more. The ice-boat was not damaged, and a little while later Dale and Harry were sailing her as before.

“I hope that teaches those fellows a lesson to leave our things alone,” said Dale, and it did teach Coulter, Paxton, and Mumps a lesson, at least as far as the ice-boat was concerned.

Following the adventure just narrated, came a series of heavy snow-storms, which are remembered even to this day at Putnam Hall. They lasted over the holidays, and many boys who had planned to visit their homes at Christmas had to forego that pleasure. One party that left got stalled on the cars just outside of Ithaca, and remained in the snowdrifts for twenty-four hours. Another party got as far as Cedarville, and after remaining there one whole day returned to the Hall.

That the cadets might not feel too blue because they were snowed in, Captain Putnam allowed them to do pretty much as they pleased during Christmas week. A fine turkey dinner was served on Christmas and on New Year’s day, and the boys had a great deal of sport in the Hall and in the gymnasium. Captain Putnam allowed them to have some private theatricals, and Jack, Pepper, Andy, Dale, and several others gave a two-act drama entitled “The Boy from the Country.” Andy was the country boy who comes to the city to seek his fortune, and Dale played the part of an old lady who knows the boy’s rich uncle. The drama was full of fun, and was well received. Before the drama came a banjo solo by one of the cadets, and then a duet by two of the cadets who could sing remarkably well.

While the singing was going on, Pepper noticed Dan Baxter sneaking behind the stage, and pointed him out to Dave Kearney.

“I think he is up to mischief,” he said. “I’ve got to go on in the next dialogue. Won’t you watch him?”

“Sure I will,” answered Dave, and hurried after Baxter. He was in time to see the bully throw something on the floor, just at the places where the actors and singers made their entrances and exits.

“Grease!” murmured Dave Kearney, after getting down and feeling of the stuff with his fingers. “How mean! The boys would look fine, sprawling all over the stage.”

As soon as he had greased the floor Dan Baxter slipped back to his seat in the hall.

“Be careful,” said Dave, running around to those who were waiting to perform.

“Careful of what?” demanded several.

“Of grease on the floor. If you’re not, you’ll go sliding from one side of the stage to the other.”

“How did the grease get there?” asked Jack.

“Dan Baxter put it there – I saw him do it.”

“Say, he ought to be mobbed!” cried Andy.

“What a dirty trick!” came from another student. “We ought to pay him back for that.”

“Let us pay him back to-night,” suggested Stuffer.

So it was agreed, and it was also settled that nobody should say a word about the grease until the proper time came. The performance went on, each performer taking good care not to get too much grease on his soles, and stepping out with caution. At last the show was over, and the final curtain went down amid great applause and cheering.

“That was as good as a professional show,” declared Joe Nelson.

“Sure an’ it was betther nor some professional shows,” put in Hogan. “Wanct I wint to a show in the country – a travelin’ troupe ’twas – an’ they couldn’t act fer a sour apple. The b’ys got ancient eggs, an’ the stage was a soight to see afther thim players got out av town!”

The performance had lasted until half-past ten, and as soon as it was over the majority of the cadets retired to their dormitories. With the crowd went Dan Baxter, much disgusted that his joke had not turned out as he had anticipated.