Part 11 (2/2)
Football!
Oak Hall Has the call!
Biff! Boom! Bang! Whoop!”
”I think we ought to display the school colors!” cried Dave. ”Anybody got a flag?”
”Here is one,” answered Polly Vane, from his seat in front, beside the driver. ”But I haven't got a stick for it.”
”Never mind, Shadow's fis.h.i.+ng rod will do,” answered Dave. ”Shadow, hand it over.”
”All right, but don't break the rod,” said Shadow. ”It cost me four bones.”
The rod was put together, and the school colors fastened to the top.
Then the rod was thrust out of a side window of the carryall and waved in the air, first by one student and then another.
”Look out, that you don't hit n.o.body with that fis.h.i.+n' pole!” warned the carryall driver, as the turnout swung around a bend of the road.
He had scarcely spoken when a buggy came into view, driven by a tall, serious-looking individual, wearing a high silk hat. The buggy swung forward quickly, directly in line with the fis.h.i.+ng rod, and before the boys could haul the colors in the rod hit the silk hat, sending it whirling into the bushes beside the roadway.
CHAPTER VIII
ABOUT SOME NEW STUDENTS
”Hi! hi! what's the meaning of this outrage!” roared the individual in the buggy, as he brought his horse to a standstill. ”Do you want to kill me?”
”Who is it? Is he hurt?” questioned Dave, quickly.
”I don't know,” answered Ben. ”The rod took off his hat, but whether it struck his head or not remains to be seen.”
”Wot's the trouble back there?” demanded Jackson Lemond, as he succeeded in bringing his team to a halt.
”Trouble is, we hit that man with the rod,” answered Buster.
”Humph! I told you to be careful,” grumbled the carryall driver. ”It don't pay to act like a pa.s.sel o' wildcats, nohow!”
”It's too bad it happened,” said Dave, and leaped to the ground and ran back to where the buggy stood, with the driver glaring at them savagely.
The other students followed.
”Are you hurt?” asked Dave, anxiously. The man in the buggy was a total stranger to him.
”Hurt? I don't know whether I am or not. What do you mean by knocking off my hat with that stick?”
”It was an accident, sir. We had our school colors on the fis.h.i.+ng rod and were waving them in the air. We didn't expect to hit anybody.”
”Bah! you are a lot of rowdies!” growled the man. ”Give me my hat!” And he pointed to where the head covering rested on some bushes.
”There you are,” said Ben, restoring the hat to its owner. ”But we are not rowdies--it was purely an accident,” he added, with a little flash out of his clear eyes.
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