The Dozen from Lakerim   By: Rupert Hughes (1872-1956)

By RUPERT HUGHES

Author of "The Lakerim Athletic Club"

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY C.M. RELYEA

1899.

TO THE BEST Father A BOY EVER HAD (EXCEPT POSSIBLY YOURS) BELONGS THE DEDICATION OF THIS STORY OF LIFE AT AN ACADEMY, SINCE HIS GOODNESS ENABLED ME TO KNOW IT AND WRITE IT

NOTE

About half of this book was published serially in "St. Nicholas." The rest of it is here printed for the first time. If in this story of life at a preparatory school I have neglected to say very much about books and studies, and have stuck to far less interesting matters, such as the games and gambols that while away the dull hours between classes, I hope my readers will graciously forgive the omission.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

IT WAS EVIDENT THAT A SEVERE STRUGGLE HAD TAKEN PLACE

"STOP THE TRAIN AND WAIT FOR ME. I'M GOING TO KINGSTON, TOO!"

TUG IS TREATED TO A LITTLE SURPRISE PARTY

QUIZ LEARNED TO SHOOT THE HILLS AT A BREATHLESS RATE

JUMBO SAW A PAIR OF FLASHING EYES GLARING AT HIM OVER THE COVERLET

PRETTY AND ENID

THE CROSS COUNTRY RUN

THE BOXING MATCH

TIED UP LIKE DUMMIES IN SACKS

"STRIKER OUT!"

BURNING THE BOOKS

THE DOZEN FROM LAKERIM

I

Some people think it great fun to build a house of cards slowly and anxiously, and then knock it to pieces with one little snip of the finger. Or to fix up a snow man in fine style and watch a sudden thaw melt him out of sight. Or to write a name carefully, like a copy book, and with many curlicues, in the wet sand, and then scamper off and let the first high wave smooth it away as a boy's sponge wipes from his slate some such marvelous statement as, 12 × 12 = 120, or 384 ÷ 16 gives a "koshunt" of 25. When such things are erased it doesn't much matter; but there are occasions when it hurts to have Father Time come along and blot out the work you have taken great pains with and have put your heart into. Twelve young gentlemen in the town of Lakerim were feeling decidedly blue over just such an occasion.

You may not find the town of Lakerim on the map in your geography. And yet it was very well known to the people that lived in it. And the Lakerim Athletic Club was very well known to those same people. And the Lakerim Athletic Club, or, at least the twelve founders of the club, were as blue as the June sky, because it seemed to them that Father Time old Granddaddy Longlegs that he is was playing a mean trick on them.

For hadn't they given all their brain and muscle to building up an athletic club that should be a credit to the town and a terror to outsiders! And hadn't they given up every free hour for two years to working like Trojans? though, for that matter, who ever heard of any work the Trojans ever did that amounted to anything except the spending of ten years in getting themselves badly defeated by a big wooden hobby horse?

But while all of the Dozen were deep in the dumps, and had their brows tied up like a neglected fish line, the loudest complaint was made, of course, by the one who had done the least work in building up the club a lazybones who had been born tired, and had spent most of his young life in industriously earning for himself the name of "Sleepy."

"It's a dad ratted shame," growled he, "for you fellows to go and leave the club in the lurch this way, after all the trouble we have had organizing it."

"Yes," assented another, who was called "B.J." because he had jumped from a high bridge once too often, and who read wild Western romances more than was good for his peace of mind or his conversation; "it kind of looks as if you fellows were renegades to the cause."

None of the Twelve knew exactly what a renegade was, but it sounded unpleasant, and the men to whom the term was applied lost their tempers, and volunteered to clean out the club room where they all sat for two cents.