Jack Ranger's Gun Club: or, From Schoolroom to Camp and Trail

Jack, who was in the rear, paused at a door at the end of the hall, and knocked softly.

“Yes,” answered a voice from within.

“Come on,” commanded Jack, and he was joined by a dark figure.

They reached the basement safely, no one having disputed their night march. Socker, the janitor, met them at the door of the boiler-room.

“Here we are,” said Jack.

“So I see, Mr. Ranger. Why, it reminds me of the time when Captain Crawford and me took a forced night march of ten miles to get some rations. We were with Sherman, on his trip to the sea, and – ”

“You must be sure to tell me that story,” interrupted Jack. “But not now. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, Mr. Ranger. But I depend on you not to say anything about this to Dr. Mead in case – ”

“Oh, you can depend on us,” Jack assured him.

“I thought I could. It reminds me of the time when we were before Petersburgh, and a comrade and I went to – ”

“You must not forget to tell me that story,” interrupted Jack. “I particularly want to hear it, Socker.”

“I will,” said the janitor, delighted that he had at last found an earnest listener.

“But not now,” said Jack. “We must get to work. Do you like pie, Socker?”

“Do I, Mr. Ranger? Well, I guess I do. I remember once when we were at Gettysburg – ”

“Bony, where’s that extra choice pie you had?” asked Jack with a wink at his chum. “Give it to Mr. Socker here,” and Bony passed over the bit of pastry that had met with the accident in the hall.

“That will keep him quiet for a while,” said Jack in a whisper.

The lads, bearing the good things Jack had provided, passed through the boiler-room and into a storage apartment, where cans of oil, waste, tools and the like were kept. Socker had arranged some boards on a couple of sawhorses for the students, and there, by the light of several candles stuck in the necks of bottles, the table was spread.

“Say, but this is jolly, all right,” said Sam Chalmers. “Jack, you’re a public benefactor.”

He leaned over to shake hands with our hero.

“Look out! You’ll upset the table!” cried Jack, as Sam, leaning against the boards, tilted them.

“Save the pieces!” cried Nat, springing to the rescue.

“Gentlemen, be seated!” invited Jack as the lads arranged themselves about the table. Socker had provided planks, stretched across big, empty oilcans. “Here you are, Will, right next to me,” went on our hero in a low tone to the lad who had joined him in the dark hall. “I’ll introduce you presently.”

No one of Jack’s chums had yet noticed the new lad, for Will had kept in the shadows, and there was much confusion attending the placing of the good things on the board. But as the guests prepared to seat themselves, Sam Chalmers caught sight of the unfamiliar face of Will Williams. He knew he was not one of Jack’s crowd, and thinking the lad might have come uninvited he said:

“We have a stranger with us.”

There was a sudden hush, and all eyes were fastened on Will, who turned red.

“He is a stranger,” said Jack quickly, “but we are going to cure that. Boys of Washington Hall – the top-notchers – the élite – the high-rollers – the cream of the bunch – allow me to present my friend Bill Williams. He is one of us, though I didn’t know it until to-day. I’m giving this blowout in his honor. Henceforth he is one of us, and in token of that we will dub him not William, but Bill, which has a more kindly sound. Fellows, salute our new member!”

CHAPTER IX

AN ALARM OF FIRE

There was a moment’s pause after Jack’s announcement, then, as one, the assembled lads bowed to Will, or, as he was to be more affectionately called, Bill. He blushed with pleasure at the new sensation of having friends.

“New member of the Irrepressibles, we, who are about to dine, salute thee!” exclaimed Sam.

“We sure do, and now, if the salutin’ ceremony is over, let’s eat,” suggested Bob Movel.

“Wait until Fred gives us a tune,” came from Nat. “Jumping gewhillikins, but they always have music at a banquet!”

“Then don’t let Fred play – if you want music,” said Sam, dodging behind Jack to be out of the musical student’s reach.

“I’ll punch your head!” exclaimed Fred.

“No, go on and play,” said Jack. “It will liven things up a bit.”

So Fred got out his mouth-organ, and rendered a lively march, the boys parading around the table, each one clapping on the back the new member of the informal club.

“Now I guess we can eat,” announced Jack. “Bill, pass that plate of sandwiches at your elbow. Fred, juggle the doughnuts down this way. Sam, don’t let those pies go to sleep. Bob, you open some of the ginger-ale, but don’t let it pop too loud, or Doc. Mead may think it’s the safety valve of the boiler going off, and send Martin to investigate.”

The lads were soon actively engaged in putting away the good things, and then, for a time, conversation languished, save for intermittent remarks.

“Are you having a good time, boys?” asked Socker, poking his head in the storeroom, after having shoveled some coal on the fire.

“We sure are, and we’re much obliged to you,” replied Jack.

“Oh, that’s all right. It reminds me, to see you all eating, of how I once was nearly starved in Andersonville prison. I was in there – ”

“I’m coming out to hear that story in about five minutes, Socker,” interrupted Jack. “Have it all ready for me.”

“I will,” promised the janitor, as he went back to look at the boiler.

It was a merry time, and Will, or, as the boys called him, Bill, enjoyed it more than any one. It seemed as if a new world had opened before him. His face lost the downcast look, his eyes were brighter, and he even ventured to make one or two jokes. The boys seemed to like him, and Jack was glad of it, for he had a genuine admiration for the new boy, and wanted to befriend him.

To some of his chums he told something of Will’s story, and there was general indignation expressed against the mean guardian.

“Well, fellows, I guess we’ve eaten everything except the table and the candles,” said Jack after a while. “I think we’d better be getting back to our rooms, for Martin may take it into his head to pay a late visit.”

The advice was timely, and as the lads had had a jolly evening, they prepared to disperse. They cleared away the remains of the feast, leaving Socker to put aside the boards, cans and bottles. As they filed out of the boiler-room, Socker called to Jack:

“I’m all ready to tell you that story now.”

“I’ve got to see these infants to bed,” replied our hero with a wink. “Then I’ll be back, Socker. Think over all the points in the story. I don’t want to lose any.”

“I’ll do that, Mr. Ranger,” and Socker sat down in a chair before the fire and began to think deeply.