The Chums of Scranton High: Or, Hugh Morgan's Uphill FightFerguson, Donald
General
The Chums of Scranton High: Or, Hugh Morgan's Uphill Fight
Ferguson, Donald
Baseball -- Juvenile fiction; High school students -- Juvenile fiction
The ice was soon procured. Hugh cracked it in rather small pieces. He
did this for two good reasons. First it would chill the water more
speedily when in this condition; then again the chances of knocking one
of the interlopers on the head with a heavy lump of ice falling quite
some distance would be obviated. Hugh did not intend that this prank
should end in a tragedy, if he could help it.
When everything had been arranged to suit Hugh, the boys retired within
the rabbit hutch, and the door was fastened with the padlock, which
Hugh could undo when the time came by leaning far out of the open
window.
They took up their positions in the place already selected, and wrapped
in complete darkness awaited coming events. The time passed very
slowly, but since they had dressed warmly, they did not suffer from the
chilly air, for it was only April, and the warmth of summer still far
distant.
Nine o'clock struck. Bless that town clock, by means of which they
could tell the hour; for Thad was beginning to believe it much later
than it really was. He yawned, and stretched a bit, shifting his
position. Then Hugh touched him on the arm, and his low whisper came
in Thad's very ear.
"Sh! something stirring outside!"
Thad had heard it, too. Either the night wind had arisen; and was
sighing through the branches of the big oak that hung partly over the
rabbit hutch, or else some living object had moved; for what the boys
heard as they crouched there quivering with suspense and anticipated
victory was certainly in the nature of a creeping sound.
Yes, now there came to the ears of Thad what must be low whispers.
Nick and his fellow conspirator had undoubtedly arrived and were
scanning their contemplated field of operations!
CHAPTER XIII
A COLD RECEPTION
Then the boys in hiding saw a strange glow around them. Undoubtedly
Leon was making use of his electric hand-torch, and both of the
intended raiders must be pressing their noses against the glass of the
small window, trying to form some sort of idea as to what awaited them.
Neither Hugh nor Thad more than breathed. The latter clutched the
stout cord in a firm hand, ready to give the quick jerk when he
believed the proper moment had arrived.
Apparently, the fellows outside must have concluded that everything was
just lovely, for they could now be heard softly opening the window, and
pushing the sash carefully back out of the way. While climbing in
through the opening thus made, they did not wish to thrust a foot
against the glass, and cause a smash that might be their undoing; oh!
trust that shrewd general, Nick Lang, for looking out against any such
accidents; he had been in this business a long time now, and understood
all the ins and outs of it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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