The High School Boys' Training Hike

  E-text prepared by Jim Ludwig

  The High School Boys' Training HikeorMaking Themselves "Hard as Nails"

  By H. Irving Hancock

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTERS I. Mr. Titmouse Doesn't Know Dick II. The Deed of a Hero III. The Peddler and the Lawyer's Half IV. Peddler Hinman's Next Appearance V. Dave Does Some Good Work VI. The No-Breakfast Plan VII. Making the Tramps Squirm VIII. When the Peddler Was "Frisked" IX. Dick Imitates a Tame Indian X. Reuben Hinman Proves His Mettle XI. Tom Idealizes Working Clothes XII. Trouble With the Rah-Rah-Rahs XIII. A Snub and the Quick Retort XIV. Dick & Co Make an Apple "Pie" XV. Making Port in a Storm XVI. Home, Hospital and Almshouse XVII. Two Kinds of HoboXVIII. Dick Prescott, Knight Errant XIX. "I'll Fight Him for This Man!" XX. In the Milksop Class? XXI. The Revenge Talk at Miller's XXII. Under the Sting of the LashXXIII. Timmy, the Gentleman, at Home XXIV. Conclusion

  CHAPTER I

  MR. TITMOUSE DOESN'T KNOW DICK

  "We thought ten dollars would be about right," Dick Prescott announced.

  "Per week?" inquired Mr. Titmouse, as though he doubted his hearing.

  "Oh, dear, no! For the month of August, sir."

  Mr. Newbegin Titmouse surveyed his young caller through half-closedeyelids.

  "Ten dollars for the use of that fine wagon for a whole month?"cried Mr. Titmouse in astonishment. "Absurd!"

  "Very likely I am looking at it from the wrong point of view,"admitted Prescott, who fingered a ten dollar bill and was slowlysmoothing it out so that Mr. Titmouse might see it.

  "That wagon was put together especially for the purpose," Mr.Titmouse resumed. "It has seats that run lengthwise, and eightsmall cupboards and lockers under the seats. There is a placeto secure the cook stove at the rear end of the wagon, and thestove rests on zinc. Though the wagon is light enough for onehorse to draw it, it will hold all that several people could requirefor camping or for leading a regular gipsy life. There is a specialawning that covers the wagon when needed, so that on a rainy dayyou can travel without using umbrellas or getting wet. You cancook equally well on the stove whether in camp or on the road.There are not many vehicles in which you can cook a full mealwhen traveling from one point to another."

  "Nor is it every stewpan or kettle that would refrain from slippingoff the stove when driving the wagon over rough roads," laughedDick good-humoredly.

  "Well---er---of course, one has to choose decent roads when touringwith a wagon of that sort," admitted the owner.

  "Then you don't think ten dollars a fair price?" Dick Prescottinquired thoughtfully.

  "For a month's use of the wagon? I do not," replied Mr. NewbeginTitmouse with emphasis.

  "And so you decline our offer of ten dollars?" Prescott asked,looking still more thoughtful.

  "I certainly do," replied Mr. Titmouse.

  Then the owner of the wagon began to descant glowingly upon themany advantages of going on a road hike aided by the service thatsuch a specially constructed wagon would give. In fact, Mr. Titmousedwelt so enthusiastically upon the value of his wagon that Dickshrewdly told himself:

  "He's very anxious---unusually so---to rent us that wagon. I'vealready found out that he hasn't used the wagon in two years,nor has he succeeded in renting it to anyone else. The wagonis so much useless lumber in his stable."

  "I wouldn't rent that wagon to everyone," Mr. Titmouse wound up.

  "No, sir," Dick agreed heartily, yet with a most innocent lookin his face. "Not everyone would want the wagon."

  "I---I don't mean that!" Mr. Titmouse exclaimed.

  "In fact, sir," Dick went on very smoothly, "I have learned thatyou have been offering the wagon for sale or hire during the lasttwo summers, without getting any customers."

  "Eh?" demanded Mr. Titmouse in some astonishment.

  "Naturally, sir," Dick went on, "before coming here to see youI made a few inquiries in Tottenville. I discovered that in thisvicinity the wagon is something of a joke."

  "What's that?" questioned the other sharply. "My camping wagona joke? Nothing of the sort. And, if it is a joke, why did youwant to get it?"

  "Oh, all of our fellows can stand a joke," laughed young Prescott"So I came over to see just what terms we could make for the useof your wagon during the month of August."

  "Well, I'll be as fair with you as I can," Mr. Titmouse replied."From men---grown men---I would want at least thirty dollarsa month for the wagon---probably thirty-five. Of course I knowthat money is not as plentiful with boys. I'll let you have thewagon for the month of August at the bottom price of twenty-fivedollars."

  Dick smilingly shook his head.

  "I've named the best price I could think of taking," insistedMr. Titmouse. "Come into the wagon shed and have another lookat it."

  "Thank you, sir, but there is no use in looking at the wagon again,when such a price as twenty-five dollars is asked for a month'shire," Dick answered promptly.

  "Come inside and look at it again, anyway," urged Mr. Titmouse.

  "Thank you, sir, but I must get back to Gridley at the earliestpossible moment."

  "If you didn't want to hire the wagon," asked Mr. Titmouse testily,"what was the use of taking up my time?"

  "I do want to hire it," Dick admitted, "but since hearing yourprice I have realized that I don't want the wagon half as muchas I did at the outset."

  It was notable about Mr. Titmouse that he would gladly talk forthree hours in order to gain a dollar's advantage in any tradein which he was interested. He was a small man, with small featuresand very small eyes which, somehow, suggested gimlets. He boreabout with him always an air of injury, as though deeply sensitiveover the supposed fact that the whole world was concerned in gettingthe better of him.

  Though Mr. Titmouse had acquired, through sharp dealing, usuryand in many other ways a considerable sum of money and propertyin the course of his life, yet he was not the man to part withany of it needlessly.

  The special wagon now resting in the wagon shed at his home placein Tottenville had been designed by him at a time when peopleall through the state had been much interested in outdoor life.The Titmouse wagon had been built as the result of much thoughton the part of its designer. It certainly was a handy kind ofwagon for campers to use on the road. Mr. Titmouse had spentfour weeks of wandering life, going from point to point and tryingto talk up the merits of his wagon. He had hoped to establisha small factory, there to build such wagons to order at high prices.

  For some reason he had met with no success in that enterprise.After his realization of failure Newbegin Titmouse had felt thathe would be content if he could sell the wagon at anything likea good price. Failing to sell it, he hoped to be able to gethis money back through renting the wagon.

  Now he stood watching this high school boy from Gridley, wonderingjust how much rental he could extort from this wiry, athletic-lookingfootball player.

  "There will be a car along in about five minutes," mused Dickaloud. "I must try to take that car. Thank you very much foryour kindness, Mr. Titmouse."

  "But we haven't come to any understanding yet," cried the wagon'sowner as Dick turned and walked away.

  "Why, yes, we have, sir," Prescott answered pleasantly over hisshoulder. "We have come to the understanding that you can't affordto come down to our price, and that we can't go up to yours.So I'm going back to make some other arrangements for a wagon."

  "Wait a minute!" interjected Newbegin Titmouse, stepping afterthe boy from Gridley. "Maybe I can drop off a dollar or so onthe price."

  "Much obliged, sir; but it wouldn't help us any, and it's almosttime for the car," was Prescott's answer.

  "What'
s your best offer? Make it!" urged Mr. Titmouse restlessly.

  "Seven dollars for the wagon for the month of August," Prescottreplied.

  "Seven? Why, only a minute or two ago you offered me ten dollars!"

  "I know it, sir," said Dick coolly. "You will recall that youdeclined that offer, so I am at liberty to make a new offer."

  "You'll have to make a better-----"

  "If you decline seven dollars," Dick smiled pleasantly, "my nextoffer, if I make one, will not go above six."

  Mr. Titmouse felt, of a sudden, very certain that the high schoolboy would stand by that threat.

  "Seven dollars doesn't land me clear for the season," complainedNewbegin Titmouse. "I've spent nine dollars already in advertisingthe wagon."

  "Then, if you don't take my seven dollars," Prescott proposed,"you'll be out quite a bit of money, Mr. Titmouse. I see my carcoming in the distance. So good-----"

  "I'll take ten!" called Mr. Titmouse, as Dick once more turnedaway.

  "Six," smiled Dick significantly. "But I haven't time to stayhere and dicker, sir. Good-----"

  "Hold on!" fairly screamed Mr. Titmouse, as Dick, nodding at him,started to run to the corner.

  "Then I'll stop and talk it over with you, sir," answered Prescott,going back. "But I don't say that I'll agree to take the wagon."

  "Now, don't you try to work the price down any lower," exclaimedMr. Titmouse, looking worried.

  "No, sir; I won't do that," Dick promised. "I won't say, yet,that I'll take the wagon, but I will agree that I'll either takeit at six dollars or refuse the chance altogether. I've justhappened to think of something that I want to make sure about"

  "What is it?" asked Mr. Titmouse apprehensively.

  "I forgot to look at the tires on the wheels," Prescott went on."I want to make sure that they're sound, so that we fellows won'thave to take the chance of paying a blacksmith to make new onesbefore we've been out a week."

  The tires were in excellent condition, so the little man had noobjection whatever to showing them.

  "Good, so far," nodded Prescott. "Now, next, I'd enjoy lookingat the axles and the hub-nuts."

  "You're not the lad who is going to allow himself to be cheated,"laughed Mr. Titmouse admiringly. "The hubs and axles are allright, so I've no objection to showing them to you."

  "I'm satisfied with the wagon," Dick declared, a few minutes later."Now, Mr. Titmouse, I'll pay you the six dollars if you'll makeout a satisfactory receipt for the money."

  "Come into the office and tell me what you want me to say in thereceipt," urged Newbegin Titmouse, leading the way across thestable into a little room in the furthermost corner.

  The receipt was soon made out, the money paid and the receiptin Dick's pocket.

  "I'll either come for the wagon myself, or send one of the otherfellows," Dick promised. "If I send for it I'll also send a writtenorder."

  "I hope you boys will have a pleasant time this summer," chirpedMr. Titmouse, who, though he had been badly out-generaled in thetrade, had at least the satisfaction of knowing that there wassome money in his pocket that had come to him by sheer good luck.

  "We're going to try to have the finest good time that a crowdof fellows ever had," Dick replied, after nodding his thanks."I've missed that car, and shall have quite a little wait."

  "Perhaps you'd like to sit under a tree and eat a few apples,"suggested Mr. Titmouse.

  Dick was about to accept the invitation with thanks when Mr. Titmouseadded:

  "I've a lot of fine summer apples I gathered yesterday. I'lllet you have three for five cents."

  This attempt at petty trade, almost in the guise of hospitality,struck Dick as being so utterly funny that he could not help laughingoutright.

  "Thank you, Mr. Titmouse," he replied. "I don't believe I'lleat any apples just now."

  "I might make it four for a nickel," coaxed the little man, "ifyou agree not to pick out the largest apples."

  "Thank you, but I don't believe I'll eat any apples at all justnow," Dick managed to reply, then made his escape in time to avoidlaughing in Mr. Titmouse's face.

  Once out on the street, and knowing that he had some twenty minutesto wait for the next car, Dick strolled slowly along.

  "I didn't know that boy," muttered Newbegin Titmouse, lookingafter Prescott with a half admiring gaze, "and I didn't size himup right. He offered me ten dollars, and then got the wagon forsix. Whew! I don't believe I ever before got off so badly asthat in a trade. But I really did spend five-fifty in advertisingthe wagon in the Tottenville and Gridley papers this summer,so I'm fifty cents ahead, anyway, and a fifty-cent piece is alwaysequivalent to half a dollar!"

  With which sage reflection Mr. Newbegin Titmouse went out intohis small orchard to see whether he had overlooked any summerapples that were worth two dollars a barrel.

  Dick sauntered down the street for a few blocks ere he heard thewhirr of a Gridley-bound trolley car behind him. He quickenedhis pace until he reached the next corner. There he signaledto the motorman.

  As the car slowed down Dick swung himself on nimbly, remarkingto the conductor:

  "Don't make a real stop for me. Drive on!"

  As Prescott passed inside the car he was greeted by a pleasant-faced,well-dressed young man. It was Mr. Luce, one of the sub-mastersof Gridley High School. Dick dropped into a seat beside him.

  "Been tramping a bit, Prescott?" inquired the sub-master.

  "No, sir; I've been over here on a little matter of business,but I expect to start, in a day or two, on a few weeks of tramping."

  Thereupon young Prescott fell to describing the trip that he,Dave Darrin, Greg Holmes, Dan Dalzell, Tom Reade and Harry Hazeltonhad mapped out for themselves.

  "Just for pleasure?" asked Mr. Luce.

  "No, sir; for training. We all hope to make the football teamthis fall. We're all of us in pretty good shape, too, I think,sir; but we're going out on this training hike to see if we can'twork ourselves down as hard as nails."

  "I'd like to go with you," nodded the sub-master.

  "Can't you do it, sir?" asked Dick eagerly, for Mr. Luce was afavorite with all the boys.

  "Unfortunately, I can't," replied the submaster. "I'm expectedat home. My mother and sister claim me for this month. But Iwish I could go, just the same."

  "You would be most welcome I assure you, sir," replied Dick warmly.

  "Thank you, Prescott," returned Mr. Luce with a smile. "I appreciateyour invitation and regret that I cannot accept it."

  The conversation again turned to the subject of the coming footballseason, and an animated discussion ensued, as Sub-master Lucewas an enthusiastic advocate of football.

  Suddenly, Dick, glancing ahead out of the window, turned pale.Without a word of explanation he sprang from his seat and madea bound for the nearer car door, the rear one.

  "Everyone off! Stop the car! Hustle!" shouted the high schoolboy. "Mr. Luce! Come on. Quick!"

  By the time the last words were uttered Dick had made a flyingleap from the car platform.

  By good luck, rather more than by expert work, he landed on hisfeet. Not an instant did he lose, but dashed along at full speed.

  John Luce, though he had no inkling of what had caused the excitement,sprang after Dick.

  Dick, however, had not waited to see if the sub-master had followedhim. His horror-filled eyes, as he ran, were turned straightahead.

  It needed but a few steps to carry him across the road. He boundedinto a field where a loaded hay wagon stood near an apple tree.

  The horses had been led away to be fed. Seated on the top ofthe hay were a boy of barely six and a girl not more than fouryears old. They were awaiting the return of the farmer.

  Down below a six-year-old boy, barefooted and brown as a gipsy,had appeared on the scene during the farmer's absence.

  "For fun" this youngster had been lighting match after match,making believe to set the hay afire. As he held the matches asclose to
the dried hay as he dared, this urchin on the groundcalled to the two babies above that he would "burn 'em up."

  Not all of this did Dick Prescott know, but his glance throughthe car window had shown him the boy on the ground just as thattiny fellow had lighted another match, shouting tantalizinglyto the two children on top of the load of hay.

  Just as he called up to them the mischievous youngster trippedslightly. Throwing out his right hand to save himself the boyaccidentally touched the bottom of the load at one side with thelighted match.

  At this fateful instant it was out of the question to think ofputting out the flame that leaped from wisp to wisp of the driedgrass.

  "Jump!" shouted the young match-burner, but the children abovedid not hear, or else did not realize their plight.

  "Fire! Fire!" screamed the little incendiary, as he ran panic-strickentoward the farm house.

  And now Dick was racing as he had never done before, even overthe football gridiron. On his speed depended the lives of thetwo children.