Part 26 (1/2)

”So that n.o.body would know what the name of the sanitarium really was.

I believe with Dave that Nat knows the man, or knows about him, and is trying to keep something a secret.”

”Hum! Maybe you are right,” mused the s.h.i.+powner's son.

Phil had perfected all his arrangements for his spread at the hotel, and his guests for that occasion had been duly invited and all had accepted the invitation. It had been arranged with Mr. Dale that the boys should drive to the hotel in the school carryall, and Horsehair was to have his supper in town and, later on, bring them home. No secret was made of the affair, for this was not necessary.

”I am only sorry for one thing,” said Phil to Dave. ”That is that I can't have the whole school there. But that would go beyond my purse.”

”Well, you'll have enough, Phil, to insure a good time,” answered our hero.

The night was clear, with numberless stars glittering in the heavens, when the carryall drove around to the Hall door and the boys piled in.

All were in the best of humor, and they left the campus in a burst of song.

”I've been saving up for this!” cried Ben. ”Haven't eaten a mouthful for two days!”

”Say, that puts me in mind of a story,” cried Shadow. ”Once a poor street-boy was invited to a Sunday-school picnic. The ladies fed him all he could hold and then some. At last, when he couldn't eat another mouthful, and saw some cake and pie and ice-cream going to waste, what do you suppose he said?”

”Give it up, Shadow.”

”He said, 'Say, missus, please save it fer me, won't yer? I won't eat fer a week, honest, an' then I'll come an' finish it all up fer yer!'”

”Good for the street-boy!”

”Say, Phil, you won't have to save anything for me! I'll eat my share right now!”

”I've been in training for this feed!”

”Shove the horses along, Horsehair; we don't want the soup to get cold.”

”I'm a-shovin' 'em along,” answered the carryall driver. ”We'll git there in plenty o' time.”

”Say, Phil, as far as I am concerned, you can have this affair pulled off once a month,” remarked Buster.

”Make it once a week,” piped in Chip Macklin. And then Luke Watson commenced to sing a popular negro ditty and all joined l.u.s.tily in the chorus.

On and on rattled the carryall until the lights of Oakdale shone in the distance. The boys continued to sing, while one or two blew freely on the tin horns they carried. Here and there somebody would come rus.h.i.+ng to a window, or door, to learn what was doing.

”It's them Oak Hall boys!” cried one old farmer. ”My, but they do have high times!”

”So they do,” returned his wife. ”But they are good boys,” she added, for some of them had once aided her in capturing a runaway bull.

With a grand flourish the carryall swept around the last corner and came to a halt in front of the hotel. Phil had hoped to see some extra lights lit and was somewhat disappointed to see only the regular lantern burning.

”I told him to light up freely and he said he would,” he whispered to Dave.

”Maybe he thought you meant the dining-room, Phil.”

The students piled out of the carryall and waited for Phil, as host, to lead the way into the hotel. All marched up the steps and into the broad hallway. There they were confronted by the hotel proprietor, who came to meet them in his s.h.i.+rtsleeves. He looked completely bewildered.