Read Ebook: For the Honor of Randall: A Story of College Athletics by Chadwick Lester

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Ebook has 2298 lines and 63176 words, and 46 pages

FOR THE HONOR OF RANDALL

A PERILOUS RIDE

"What a glorious night!"

Tom Parsons, standing at the window of the study which he shared with his chums, looked across the campus of Randall College.

"It's just perfect," he went on.

There was no answer from the three lads who, in various attitudes, took their ease, making more or less of pretenses at studying.

"So are you--of words," blurted out Sid Henderson, as he leafed his trigonometry.

"Since nights were invented," broke in Phil Clinton, with a yawn. "Dry up, Tom, and let us bone, will you?"

Unmoved by the scorn of his chums, the tall lad at the casement, gazing out on the scene, which, to do him justice, had wonderfully moved him, continued to stand there. Then, in a quiet voice, as though unconscious of the presence of the others, he spoke:

"Oh for cats' sake!" fairly yelled Frank Simpson, the Big Californian, as he had been dubbed. He shied his book full at Tom Parsons, catching him in the back, and bringing to a close the blank verse our hero was spouting, with a grunt that greatly marred it.

"Oh perfect night!" mocked Sid.

"Vandal!" hissed Tom.

"Go on! Hear Hear! Bravo!" cried Phil. "Let the noble Senator proceed!"

"Oh, for the love of mustard!" broke in the big lad who had tossed his book at Tom. "There's no use trying to do any work with this mob. I'm going over to see Dutch Housenlager. He won't spout blank verse when I want to bone, and that's some comfort."

"No, but he'll want to get you into some horse-play, like tying knots in Proc. Zane's socks, or running the flag up at half mast on the chapel," declared Tom. "You had much better stay here, Frank. I've got something to propose."

"There! I knew it!" cried Phil. "There's a girl in it somewhere, or Tom would never be so poetical. Who is she, Tom? and when are you going to propose?"

"Oh, you fellows are worse than the measles," groaned the lad who had been looking at the moonlight. "I'm done with you. I leave you to your fate."

With a grunt of annoyance Tom turned away from the window, kicked under the sofa the book which Frank had thrown at him, and reached for his cap and coat.

"Where you going?" asked Phil quickly, as he turned over in the deep armchair, causing the ancient piece of furniture to emit many a groan, and send out a choking cloud of dust. "Whither away, fair sir?"

"Anywhere, to get away from you fellows," grunted the displeased one.

"No, but seriously, where are you going?" asked Frank. "Now that you've broken the ice, I don't mind admitting that I don't care such an awful lot for boning."

Tom paused in the doorway, one arm in and the other out of his coat.

"I'm going out," he answered. "It's too nice to stay in. The coasting must be great on Ridge Hill, and with this moon--say it's a shame to stay in! That's what I've been trying to ding into you fellows, only you wouldn't listen. Why, half of Randall must be out there to-night."

"What about Proc. Zane?" asked Sid, referring to the proctor, who kept watch and ward over the college.

"Nothing doing," answered Tom. "A lot of the fellows went to Moses after the last lecture and got permission to take their bobs over on the hill. There were so many that the good old doctor said he'd raise the rules for to-night, because it was likely to be such a fine one. So there's no danger of being up on the carpet, if we get in at any decent hour."

"Cut it out!" begged Phil, with a laugh. "If there's any coasting, and I guess there is, we'll be in it. Come on, fellows, and we'll see how our bob does on the hill."

With laughter and gay talk, now that they had made up their minds to adopt Tom's suggestion, and go coasting, the four chums, than whom there was no more devoted quartette in Randall, passed out into the corridor. As they descended the stairs they heard a subdued hum that told of other students bent on the same errand, and, when they had a glimpse of the snow-covered campus, they beheld many dark figures hurrying along, dragging single sleds or big bobs after them.

"Say, I hope no one pinches ours!" cried Tom, and at the thought he hastened his pace toward an out-building of the gymnasium, where the students kept their bicycles in Summer, and their bobs in Winter.

It was now Winter at Randall, a glorious Winter, following a glorious football season. For several years it had been the custom for the students to indulge in coasting on a big hill about a mile away from the college. Some of the lads clubbed together and had built fine, big bobs, with foot rests, carpet on the top, with immense gongs to sound warning, and with steering wheels that equalled those of autos, while some had drag brakes, to use in case of emergency.

The bob owned jointly by Tom Parsons, Sid Henderson, Phil Clinton and Frank Simpson, was one of the best in Randall. It was fifteen feet long, and could carry quite a party. It needed no small skill and strength to steer it, too, when fully loaded.

Our friends, getting out their sled, soon found themselves in the midst of a throng of fellow students, all hurrying toward the hill. The four chums had hold of the rope to haul the big bob.

"There are the Jersey twins," remarked Sid, as Jerry and Joe Jackson hurried on, dragging a small bob.

"And here comes Dutch," added Phil. "He can ride with us, I guess."

"Sure," assented Tom. "I say, Dutch!" he called. "Got a sled?"

"No. Why should I when there are already plenty?" "Dutch," or otherwise Billy Housenlager, demanded.

"That's right," spoke Frank. "Come on, give us a hand, and we'll give you a ride."

"I am too tired," was the answer, "but I will let you have the honor of pulling me," and, with a sigh of contentment Dutch threw himself down on the big bob.

"Here! Get off, you horse!" cried Sid.

A loud snore was the answer. Sid started back to roll the lazy student off, but Tom, with a wink, indicated a better way of disposing of him. At a signal the four students broke into a run.

"Ah, this beats an auto," murmured Billy.

Suddenly the four swerved sharply, and the bob turned over, spilling Dutch off, into a snow bank.

"Ten thousand double-dyed maledictions upon you!" he spluttered, as he blew the snow out of his mouth. "Just for that I'll not ride with you. Hold on, Jerry--Joe," he called to the Jersey twins, "wait for papa!"

There was a laugh at Dutch and his predicament, and then the crowd of students hurried on, our heroes among them. In a little while they could hear distant shouts, and the clanging of bells.

"Some crowd on the hill," observed Tom. "I told you there'd be sport."

"Right you are, my hearty," agreed Phil. "Whew! I should say there was a mob!" for by this time they had come out on top of the long slope that led down the country road, forming the coasting place, known as Ridge Hill.

While most of the crowd consisted of students from Randall College, there were not a few lads and girls from the neighboring town of Haddonfield, and the shrill voices of the lassies and the hoarser shouts of the boys, mingled musically that moonlit night. The clang of bells on the bobs was constant.

"Come on now, get ready!" called Tom. "Let's take a crowd down."

"Who's going to steer?" asked Phil.

"Let Frank," advised Sid. "He's got the most muscle, and he needs exercise."

"I like your nerve," retorted the Big Californian. But he took his place at the steering wheel, while Tom got on the rear to work the brake, and Sid acted as bell-ringer.

"Get aboard!" invited Tom, and several of his friends among the students piled on.

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