This notice was posted on the bulletin board in Academy Building one morning, and fellows on their way to recitations read it and became suddenly aware that, from an athletic standpoint at least, spring had begun. From that same standpoint winter is a short-lived season in Hillton – a mere ten weeks between the last football game and the call for track team candidates; a brief space in which the hockey players pose as heroes, the Hillton and St. Eustace chess clubs prepare for and hold their annual contest, the debating club membership grows, the school librarian is for once busy all day long, and the juniors conduct mimic battles and sieges on the green, their citadels and ammunition both constructed of snow. And then some morning while the mercury still lingers affectionately about the zero mark a little square of paper appears on the bulletin board, and, officially at least, the vernal season is ushered in.

This year, as usual, with the appearance of the call for track team candidates a veritable epidemic of athletic enthusiasm swept over the Academy. The crew candidates, who for weeks past had been quietly exercising with chest weights and dumb-bells and running around the track without occasioning any particular notice, now went to work on the rowing machines and were daily viewed by a throng of their fellows. The baseball players congregated in the cage and pitched and batted and slid about on the canvas to an accompaniment of low-voiced criticism from chaps who pressed their noses through the wire meshes for a half-hour at a time. Golfers polished up their clubs, bought brand new books on the sport, and were to be found practicing putting in the dormitory halls. A few lads flocked together in warm studies and talked of wickets and overs and bowls, and tried hard to convince themselves and each other that they were enthusiastic cricketers. And all the while the ice on the river was thick and hard, the wind swept across the green in wintry gusts, and the snow was piled high on either side of the walks.

But if the green and the campus and the frozen paths were deserted, the gymnasium, especially after two o’clock in the afternoon, was a busy scene. Of the fifty-odd boys who reported for the track team, forty-two were put to training. With most of them the new work was disappointingly similar to that gone through with all winter. The chest weights banged up and down, the rings swung about under the high roof, the ladders creaked and bent between their braces, and the dumb-bells and Indian clubs swung faster than ever. But many of the candidates were put to work on the wooden track in the hour when twilight filled the gymnasium with strange and grotesque shadows, and now and then some candidate for honors with the sixteen-pound shot was allowed to toss a leather-covered sphere about the place, to the imminent danger of everybody’s toes.

Professor Beck, from a quiet, even-voiced, little gentleman, suddenly became a commanding figure, who was here, there, and everywhere, and whose least word was like a trumpet sound. Boys who were not candidates for the track team or the baseball team or the crew or something – and there appeared to be few of them in those days – were not admitted to the floor of the gymnasium after a certain hour in the afternoon, and so congregated at the little walled-off inclosure by the entrance and scoffed or praised, envied or admired, to their heart’s content and to the despair of the performers.

One afternoon, a few days subsequent to the beginning of the track candidates’ training, the gymnasium was more than usually full and noisy. The crew was hard at work in the rowing room, a half dozen fellows were trotting about the track, and the boys under Don were putting in a preliminary ten minutes at the weights. Taken as a whole they were a fine-looking lot, though to the uninitiated many would have appeared too slight in build for athletic success. These were the sprinters and hurdlers and those of the new candidates who were desirous of becoming such. They showed speed rather than strength and were in some cases slender to a degree. It was not difficult to distinguish the new candidates from the experienced, even when they were in gymnasium attire; the matter of chest development alone afforded unmistakable proof. In the same way the jumpers and pole vaulters could be picked out. A greater development of the chest muscles was noticeable, resultant on the short, sharp effort required in their work. Of the several boys present who had been members of the last year’s team as long-distance runners, three at least indicated their specialty by their build. Their chests were quite as highly developed as those of the jumpers, but the development was more general; their tasks required staying power as well as strength of lung. Of the performers with the heavy weights, Dave Merton was a fair example. Both the twelve-pound hammer and the shot belong of right to athletes who have weight in their favor, since it is only by putting their weight into the effort that success with hammer or shot may be hoped for. The exercise brings into play the muscles of the back and loins, widens the body across the shoulders, and gives plenty of room to the heart and lungs. To a less extent the legs are benefited and the entire muscular system gains in elasticity.

Professor Beck emerged from the rowing room and cast his gaze over the gymnasium floor, letting his eyes rest first on one and then another of the exercisers at the weights.

“That will do at the weights, boys,” he announced presently. He referred to a book which he took from his pocket. “Morris and Graham and Gordon, to the running track and do a half mile; and by the way, Graham, don’t labor under the impression that you’re trying to catch a train; take your pace from Morris. You too, Gordon; you run too fast. Jumpers and sprinters had better get in some work with the dumb-bells. I’ll have a look at you presently. The rest of you know your work, I think.”

He turned to Don, and the two discussed the candidates for some time, while Wayne joined the men on the track and proceeded to put twelve laps behind him at a moderate pace. Wayne’s presence among the track team candidates requires some explanation. Continued study with but little outdoor recreation had begun to create a listlessness that had surprised and worried him. Don, when consulted, explained the matter in very few words.

“You’ve been cooped up indoors and have had no exercise; what can you expect? Staying indoors makes a chap’s brain sluggish. The sooner you take up some exercise that’ll interest you, the sooner you’ll be able to study well again.”

“But what is there to do?” asked Wayne.

“Why, report on Saturday and try for the track team. You half promised, anyhow, you know.”

“More dumb-bells?” growled Wayne.

“At first, yes. But when we get outdoors you’ll be glad that you went in for the team. You’ll like it after the first week, Wayne. Besides, as a favor to me, you know!”

“Oh, well, I just as leave. I don’t mind those chest weights any more. And I dare say it’ll give me something to do in spring. And I reckon it would make my lessons come easier.”

So the name of Wayne Gordon was entered in the list of candidates for the track team, and he underwent an examination which appeared satisfactory to Professor Beck and began training. He was already enjoying the work. There was a definite object ahead to lend encouragement at the most trying moments, and even the dumb-bells were not so monotonous as formerly. Gymnasium work had already made a perceptible change in the lad. He had got rid of not a little superfluous flesh since the cross-country race, and his muscles were firmer, his complexion was clearer, and he felt better. He even acknowledged this, somewhat grudgingly, to Don.

“They’re pretty good things – chest weights and dumb-bells and single sticks – after you get used to ’em,” he said.

To-day was his second appearance on the running track. He had discovered the day before, greatly to his surprise, that he was not expected to race around the building as fast as his legs would carry him, but that a jog trot was what pleased Professor Beck best.

“I don’t want you to make any records up there, Gordon,” the professor had informed him. “If you’re to make a success at long-distance running you must get off some of that fat, breathe properly, and learn endurance. Just put your head back, take long breaths, and jog around at an even gait. Never mind style; we’ll take that up later.”

So Wayne jogged. He rather liked it to-day. There was something soothing in the pat-pat of the runners’ shoes on the floor. His breath came easily, and as he went around he could look down occasionally upon the heads of the fellows below: at Dave who was going through the most extraordinary antics with a leather-covered shot (Dave always had recourse to the shot when he could not lay hold of a hammer); at Don and Professor Beck, the former emphasizing his words by digging the toe of his gymnasium shoe into the mattress in front of the vaulting standard; at a string of fellows at the far side of the building and under the track who were exercising with the wooden dumb-bells; at the little group of idle boys at the doorway; and as he made the turns he could glance through the high and broad windows and catch glimpses of the frozen river and far-stretching snow-covered marshes.

Presently Professor Beck and Don parted company, the latter joining the squad at dumb-bell exercise and the former fixing the standard for the pole vaulters, two of whom were soon at work taking low flights. There was something very attractive about the way in which the two white-clad and lithe-bodied youngsters gripped the long poles and rose gracefully into the air to drop noiselessly to the mattress beyond the crossbar, and Wayne became so interested in the performance that he forgot to run and had to be recalled to a recollection of his duty by Morris, who gave him a playful kick as he jogged by.

But the half mile was soon finished, and Wayne left the track, descended the stairs, and sought the director, who was busy instructing Dave and two others in the matter of holding the shot. After a moment he turned to Wayne.

“How do you feel, Gordon?”

“Fine, sir.”

“Think you could run another half-mile?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Good; but don’t try it. I guess you’ve done enough for to-day. Take a tepid shower now and rub yourself down well with your hands before drying. And, by the way, let me tell you what I mean by a shower. I don’t mean that you must turn on the water and stand under it until your teeth chatter; but get under it and get out again – slip through it, as it were. Remember that as long as you’re in training, Gordon. Too much bathing is worse than none for weakening you. I don’t mind telling you that we are going to have need of just such a runner as I hope you will turn out to be. You’ve got a little work ahead of you, and there are certain regulations which may seem a trifle irksome at first; but I hope you’ll persevere; you’ve got a good incentive to train hard and conscientiously. And when you get tired or out of sorts, why, take a rest. You can’t rest too much when you’re training; only make sure that you are resting and not loafing. Both Cunningham and I expect a good deal from you, Gordon; hope you won’t disappoint us.”

“I’ll try not to, sir, although I haven’t much faith in myself as an athlete, you know.”

“That’ll come after you’ve done something; of course it’s all new to you yet, and there’s a good bit to learn, but I’m sure you’ll make a go of it. And you’ll like it better when you can get out of doors. Meanwhile don’t overeat, get a good nine hours of sleep, and don’t let yourself get tired. And if you want to ask any questions you’ll find me here, you know.”

Wayne thanked him and disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. Professor Beck looked after him thoughtfully.

“A good back for running, and endurance written all over him; and obstinacy, too. It may be,” he mused, “that we can make use of that obstinacy for a good purpose. But I hope he doesn’t shy at something or get balky.”

CHAPTER XIV
BENSON MAKES A FIND

“Thought you’d like to know,” explained Dave, as he mechanically formed a snowball and threw it with precision at the head of a passing acquaintance.

“I’m glad you told me,” replied Wayne, frowning intently at the icy path they were traversing on the way from chapel to breakfast. “I think it’s a mean thing to do – tell the fellows about it when he hasn’t any proof against Gray.”

“Yes, I told him I thought he was making an ass of himself,” concurred Dave. “Benson isn’t a bad sort, you know, and I guess he really thinks that Gray took the money; and of course, if he thinks that – ”

“But he has no business telling it about school,” declared Wayne hotly.

“No, he hasn’t. And I don’t believe that Gray took the old bill. He doesn’t seem that sort, you see. Any fellow that can fix up second-hand golf balls to look like new doesn’t steal. Why, Gray remolded those brand new balls of mine so that they are almost as good as they were before you lammed them with the fire shovel!”

“Of course, Gray isn’t a thief!” said Wayne. “I suppose the fact of the matter is that Benson just mislaid the money somewhere and can’t find it. But he has no right to say that Gray stole it. And I’m going to see him and tell him so.”

“Good boy! Hope we don’t have hominy this morning.”

Wayne found Benson in his room in Turner at noon. Benson was a jovial, good-natured chap whom Wayne knew but slightly. He was in the senior class, though he had occupied four years in getting there, and was somewhat of a leader among a coterie of idlers whose aim was to have as good a time as they could and to pass the examinations by as narrow a margin as was possible. But there was nothing vicious about Benson, and Wayne had always liked him as much as their slight friendship warranted.

“Say, Benson,” Wayne began, as he took a seat on the edge of the study table, “what’s this about your losing some money and suspecting Carl Gray of taking it?”

“Why, nothing to make a fuss about,” answered Benson. “It’s this way. You know you came and asked me if I had any golf balls that needed fixing up, and I said I had. And the next day this fellow Gray came and got them. And then a couple of weeks later he turned up one day when I was sitting here and brought them back. I’d just got a letter from my aunt, and the old lady had inclosed a two-dollar bill. That’s a way she has, bless her! The bill was laying on the table near you there. I was reading a library book – Ploetz’s Epitome of Universal History, it was – and so when Gray came in I just told him to lay the balls on the table and said I’d pay him the next day; I owed him sixty cents, and didn’t have any change. Gray said all right and he hoped I’d like the balls, and went out. Then afterward I looked for the bill and it wasn’t there. Maybe he didn’t take it,” concluded Benson good-naturedly, “but it wasn’t to be found, and so I naturally suspected him.”

“But Carl Gray isn’t a thief, confound you, Benson!”

“Well, I dare say he didn’t take it. It doesn’t matter. But you said yourself that he was awfully hard up for money, you know, Gordon; and I thought that perhaps he saw the bill and concluded he needed it more than I did.”

“Well, if you really think that Gray took the money I’ll pay it back to you myself. Only you’ve got to keep your mouth shut, Benson, and not go telling it all around school. Why, hang it, it’s a shame to say such a thing about a fellow unless you can prove it!”

“But I haven’t been telling it all around school,” said Benson indignantly. “I haven’t told a soul except Dick Barrow.”

“Well, Barrow’s told everybody else, I reckon. I learned it from Dave Merton this morning. You ought to know that if you tell a thing like that it’s sure to get around.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Gordon. I didn’t mean to be nasty about it. Besides, I don’t care about the two dollars. The dear old lady has sent another two since then – this very morning, in fact. I’ll tell the fellows that it’s all a lie; Barrow’s an awful liar anyhow, you know.”

“I think you’d ought to hunt for the money,” responded Wayne.

“Hunt? I have hunted, Gordon. I hunted all through the room the day it disappeared.”

“Well, I know that Gray didn’t steal it. But I’m going to pay it back to you.”

“No, you’re not, Gordon. I don’t want your money. If Gray didn’t take it you’ve no business paying it to me; and if he did take it, I don’t see where you come in. Hang it, I said I didn’t want the money. What’s the good of fussing about it?”

“Lots of good,” replied Wayne angrily. “You’ve spread a report that Carl Gray stole the money from you. You’d no business doing that, and you know it. I’m going to pay the two dollars to you so that you’ll shut up.”

“I’ve told you that I didn’t spread any report; I only told one fellow. And I had a right to tell him if I wanted to.”

“Why haven’t you accused Gray to his face?”

“I will if you send him up.”

“No, you won’t, either. You’ve done enough harm already with your old two-dollar bill. If you’re halfways decent you’ll try and stop the story from getting around any more.”

“I like your cheek, Gordon,” answered Benson, slamming a book down on the table. “If I’ve made a mistake in mentioning the thing to Barrow I’m sorry, and I’ll deny the story whenever I hear it; I can’t do any more than that, can I?”

“But what did you do it for?” insisted Wayne.

“Why, I’ve explained it, haven’t I? What’s the good of talking about it any more? If the money was stolen, it’s stolen, and – ”

“It wasn’t stolen, and you know it, Benson.”

“I don’t know anything of the sort,” responded Benson, losing his temper. “I only know that you tell me Gray isn’t a thief; maybe he isn’t. But the money was there when he came in and it was gone when he went out; and he wanted money. If you’ve got anything else to say, say it to Gray.”

“You’re a coward, Benson, to make such a charge when you can’t – ”

“Well, on my word! Say, you’d better get out of here, or – ”

“Or what?” asked Wayne defiantly.

Benson restrained himself with an effort and walked to the window.

“If you don’t I will, and you can talk to the table.”

Wayne bit his lip, scowled at the motionless back of the other boy, and slid to the floor. At the door he hesitated with his hand on the knob. Then he returned to the middle of the study.

“I say, Benson, I’ll take that back, you know – what I just said. I reckon I’ve been acting like a cad ever since I came in; but you see Gray’s a friend of mine, and – ”

“Oh, that’s all right; no harm done. Of course you’d feel mad about it; I dare say I would in your place. Sorry I ever opened my mouth on the subject.” Benson turned back toward the table and smiled good-humoredly. “If you hear the yarn again you might deny it for me. Will you? Just say I was lying, you know.”

“Perhaps you’ll find the money some time,” suggested Wayne.

“Eh? Find the money? Oh, of course I might. Still – ” Benson paused and stared at Wayne. Then his face lighted up. “By Jove, Gordon, that’s a good idea! I’ll find it this evening!”

“Yes; it might have fallen into a drawer or somewhere like that, you know.”

“Of course it might. I – I dare say it fell back of the drawer. Perhaps it’s there now, Gordon.”

“Perhaps it is.”

Very seriously Benson, fumbling in his vest pocket, advanced to the table and pulled out the left-hand drawer. Then he thrust his hand into the aperture.

“Feel anything?” asked Wayne.

“Yes, I think I’ve got it.” He withdrew his hand and held up a two-dollar bill. “Isn’t that luck?”

“Yes indeed,” replied Wayne unsmilingly. “And I’m awfully glad you found it. I’ll tell Merton, and get him to tell the others.”

“I wish you would. And I’ll tell Barrow right away. I suppose I put it into the drawer and forgot about it, and then it got pushed out at the back. I should think that was the way it happened, eh?”

“Must be,” answered Wayne. “Well, I’ll get out now. Awfully much obliged to you, Benson, for – for hunting it. And I hope you’ll forget anything I said that wasn’t – ”

“That’s all right, Gordon; forget it yourself. Glad you came in.”

Wayne hurried away to his room for a book, and on the way he pondered over Benson’s story. Of course, Benson might have been mistaken, but Wayne couldn’t blame him in his heart for suspecting Gray, under the circumstances. Had Gray really taken the money? He was hard up at the time, undoubtedly; and perhaps the temptation had been too great for him. On the other hand, Carl Gray didn’t look like a fellow that would give way to temptation so easily, and he had kept every promise made to him. No, Gray hadn’t taken the money, Wayne concluded, and he hoped that the story would not reach his ears.

But it had. Gray was sitting in Wayne’s easy-chair talking to Don when Wayne reached the study, and after the latter had found his chemistry notebook Gray accompanied him across the yard. He broached the subject at once. He had heard the report in a roundabout way, and scarcely knew whether to credit it or not.

“I’m very sure, Gordon,” the boy declared, “that there wasn’t any money near me when I was in his room that time. I laid the golf balls on the table; I should have noticed a bill if it had been in sight. I didn’t take the money, Gordon, honestly! Won’t you go with me to see Benson? You could tell him that – that – well, you know me a little. Why, if the faculty hears of it – ”

“Shut up!” cried Wayne, who for several minutes had been trying to interrupt the flow of the other’s nervous explanations and protestations. “The money wasn’t stolen. It’s been found. Benson found it himself. It had fallen out back of the table drawer. I was there when he found it.”

“Really?” cried Gray. “I – I’m awfully glad!”

“Benson didn’t mean the story to get out. You see, Gray, he thought he had left the money on the table, and when he went to look for it after you’d gone he couldn’t find it. He hunted everywhere – as he thought – and – and it didn’t turn up. And then he – he suspected you. I told him he was mistaken, and so we hunted some more, and he found it in the table, you know. I wouldn’t worry about it. I don’t believe many fellows heard it. And he’s going to tell all of them that the money is found, and so am I. He’s very sorry about it.”

“Well, I don’t suppose he was to blame. Of course, he – he didn’t know me very well. It was good of you to see him, awfully good. Why, perhaps if you hadn’t gone there he wouldn’t have found it.”

“Oh, yes, he would have, some time. But I’m glad I went. Well, here’s where I do stunts with chemistry.”

“You’re – you’re quite sure it was found, Gordon?” asked Gray as Wayne ran up the steps. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“Of course it was found,” cried Wayne. “Didn’t I tell you that I saw Benson find it, you chump?” Gray turned away, apparently not quite convinced, and Wayne went on into the hall.

“My!” he muttered with a grin, “I’m getting to be an awful liar!” He frowned over some obtruding thought. Then he pushed open the recitation-room door with a violence that won him a scowl of annoyance from the professor.

“Nonsense!” he told himself, as he took his seat and opened his book; “Gray didn’t take it!”