Chapter VII: A Runaway Iceboat

“How are we going to get it to him?” asked Bert Wilson, as the Latin class, its members having finished their punishment, filed out on the campus.

“Mail it to him,” suggested Jack.

“No, leave it at his door,” advised Henry Miller.

“Huh! Who’d do it?” asked George Abbot.

“There you go again, Why!” exclaimed Tom with a laugh, as he passed around the warning he had composed.

“Well, I mean who would have the nerve to go up and leave that at Skeel’s door?” went on the small lad. “I wouldn’t.”

“I would!” declared Tom. “I’m tired of being imposed upon!”

“And so am I!” exclaimed Jack. “I’m with you. Let’s get a lot of Freshmen, tog up in masks, or with pillow cases over our heads, and leave the warning at his door. That’ll make him be more decent, I guess.”

“All right,” agreed Tom. “We’ll do it.”

That same night Tom, and several bold spirits, with pillow cases, or white cloths over their coats, slipped from the dormitory where the Freshmen lived, moved and had their being. Tom carried his warning.

It was in Latin, more or less accurate, and in plain terms demanded on the part of Professor Skeel a more tolerant attitude toward the Freshman class, or, failure would be met with a burning in effigy of the disliked instructor. And the boys meant it, too.

“All ready now?” asked Tom as he and his chums, in the dark shadows of a thick hedge around Mr. Skeel’s house had adjusted their head-coverings. “All ready?”

“Lead on!” whispered Jack. “Who’s going to knock at the door?”

“I will,” agreed Tom. “We’ll go around to his ‘study,’ as he calls it. It’s got a door opening directly into the garden, and he’ll answer the knock himself.”

Advancing from amid group of his chums a little later, with the warning held in the cleft end of a long stick, Tom knocked on Mr. Skeel’s door. The professor was in his study, poring over some book, and laying new traps, in the way of difficult questions, for his pupils.

“Who’s there?” he cried sharply, at the sound of Tom’s rap.

A groan was the answer.

“What nonsense is this?” demanded Professor Skeel, as he rose from his chair.

“If those are students they’ll pay dearly for this nonsense!” he was heard to exclaim, as he opened the door. The sight of the white-robed figures, with one standing out from the others, holding forth a letter in a cleft stick, was a distinct surprise to the professor.

“What is the meaning of this?” he cried. “Who are you? I demand to know!”

Groans were his only answer, and Tom waved the letter before the professor’s face. In very wonderment the instructor took it and then, with a final series of groans, Tom and the others turned and hurried away.

“Come back. I demand that you return. Take those silly cloths from your heads, and let me see who you are!” cried Professor Skeel, but our hero and his chums knew better than to tarry.

“Halt!” cried the professor. He started after the lads, but, as he reached the bottom step he tripped on a stick, and fell and, as he had on light slippers, the contact of his toes with the ground was anything but comfortable.

Uttering an exclamation of anger, the professor went back into his study with the letter, while Tom and his chums hurried to their rooms, getting to them undetected.

“What’s this?” burst out Professor Skeel, as he read Tom’s Latin warning. “They demand better treatment! Burn me in effigy, eh? Why this is a threat! A threatening letter! I’ll have the entire Freshman class suspended! I shall see Dr. Meredith at once!”

In his anger he did go over and see the head master, showing him the letter.

“Hum! Well,” mused Doctor Meredith. “That is a sort of threat, Professor Skeel, but--er--would not it be well to--er--to grant the class a few more privileges? Remember they are first year lads, unused to the discipline of a college, and, therefor, not to be dealt with too harshly. Could you not grant their request?”

“What? My dear sir! Grant a request coupled with a threat? Never! I demand the suspension of the entire Freshman class, until the perpetrators of this outrage are discovered, and then I demand their expulsion. Why, Doctor Meredith, they had the audacity to call on _me_, disguised. On _me_! They had the effrontery to threaten _me_ in a miserably composed Latin scrawl. _Me!_ I demand the suspension of the entire class!”

“Hum! Well, I’m afraid I can’t do that,” said the head master. “I shall take this under advisement, and act in the morning. But I can’t suspend the whole class. They are not all guilty, I’m sure,” and nothing the irate professor said could change this decision.

In the morning Doctor Meredith referred to the matter, not half as strongly, however, as Professor Skeel thought should have been done. There was no threat to suspend the class, and all the doctor did was to suggest that different measures be taken in the future. He also asked those engaged in the affair to make themselves known.

“As if we would!” exclaimed Tom, later. And I hardly believe Doctor Meredith expected that the lads would. He had been a college master for many years, and he knew boys, which Professor Skeel did not.

“Oh, but we’ll get it in Latin class,” predicted Jack. “We’d better all be prepared today.”

And they all were, very well prepared, but that did not save them from an angry tongue-lashing, in which the professor, on his own account, demanded to know those who had been instrumental in writing and bringing the warning.

Of course no one answered, and, as Tom had taken the precaution to print out the letter, his handwriting was not recognized. Every device, however, that an angry and bullying teacher could bring to bear, was used on the class. But no one failed, and no punishment could be inflicted. Though had the professor been able to use his power he would have administered corporal punishment to all the Freshmen.

The result was, however, that the Latin recitation was perfect, and, in his heart the instructor was just a little bit afraid of the threat of burning him in effigy. So, in a few days he did mend his ways somewhat, and the class began to feel that Tom’s plan had worked wonders. But the end was not yet.

“Well, Tom, I’ve had enough of this!” exclaimed Jack, one cold afternoon, when the two chums had been “boning” away in their room for some time. “Let’s go hire that iceboat you were talking of, and have a sail on the river. I guess she’s frozen over thick enough.”

“I’m with you!” and Tom tossed his book to one side. “Let’s get George, Bert and some of the others.”

Some days before Tom had discovered that the man of whom the lads hired their rowboats, had a couple of ice craft for rent, and he had engaged one for the first good day.

A little later Tom and several of his chums, including Jack, were on their way to the frozen river, lessons being over for the day.

“Well, where are you bound for?” asked Bruce Bennington, as he met Tom and the others near the stream.

“Ice boating. Come along,” invited Tom.

“Thanks. I believe I will. I was going for a skate, but somehow, I don’t feel like exerting myself.”

There was a look of worriment still on the Senior’s face, and he talked as though the trouble that was worrying him had not passed away. Tom wanted to help him, but knew it was best to say nothing.

A part of the river, where the water was not so deep, nor the current under the ice so swift as elsewhere, had been set aside by the school authorities as the place where the students might skate. They were forbidden to use the steel runners elsewhere, as a matter of safety, and, as the skating course was plenty long enough, none of the lads ventured on the part of the river where the ice boats were used. In fact the presence of those craft, of which there were several, made it necessary that the numerous skaters keep clear of them.

The place where Tom hired the iceboat was quite a distance from the skating course, and, in consequence of a bend in the river, none of the other pupils, who were indulging in sports on the steel blades, were in sight. There was one iceboat out on the broad surface of the river as our hero and his chums arrived.

“Know how to sail one?” asked Bruce, as he took his place in the shallow box that served as a sort of cockpit, while some of the boys perched on the runners.

“Fairly well,” replied Tom, and soon they were skimming over the slippery surface, with Tom at the helm. It was great sport, and they liked it immensely.

“This is fine!” exclaimed Bruce, with sparkling eyes, and something of a return of his old manner. “It beats skating!” and he kicked his skates that he had tossed into the box near him.

“Oh, skating’s all right!” declared Tom, as he changed the course slightly. “We’ll have some skating races soon, won’t we?”

“Yes, it’s about time for them,” answered the Senior.

After sailing for several miles Tom decided to put up a sort of auxiliary sail on the boat, to get more speed. It was fitted to a short bamboo mast, about five feet high.

“You’ll all have to get out while I fix it,” suggested Tom, as he let the wind spill out of the big sail, and brought the boat up with a turn, while it gradually came to a stop.

They piled out, stamping up and down to warm their rather benumbed legs and feet. Tom and Jack were soon putting up the little sail.

“I’ve got to whittle down the end of the mast to make it fit in,” declared Tom after a trial. “Lend me your knife, Jack.”

Bruce had put on his skates for a little turn while he waited, and the others were racing up and down. Tom and Jack were working over the auxiliary sail, standing a short distance away from the iceboat, when there came a sudden puff of wind. The main sheet became caught, the big sail filled, and a moment later the empty iceboat was racing over the smooth, frozen river at dangerous speed!