SCHOOL ***




Produced by Al Haines.


                              BOBBY BLAKE

                          at Rockledge School


                                  _By_
                            FRANK A. WARNER

                              _Author of_
                       "BOBBY BLAKE AT BASS COVE"
                    "BOBBY BLAKE ON A CRUISE," Etc.



                         WHITMAN PUBLISHING CO.
                           RACINE, WISCONSIN




                          Copyright, MCMXV, by
                              BARSE & CO.



                Printed in the United States of America




                                CONTENTS

CHAPTER

      I. "The Overland Limited"
     II. Apples and Applethwaite Plunkit
    III. Fred in Trouble
     IV. An Eventful Afternoon
      V. The Tale of a Scarecrow
     VI. A Fish Fry and a Startling Announcement
    VII. Financial Affairs
   VIII. The Peep-Show
     IX. Off for Rockledge
      X. New Surroundings
     XI. Getting Acquainted
    XII. In the Dormitory
   XIII. The Poguey Fight
    XIV. The Honor Medal
     XV. Getting Into Step
    XVI. Hot Potatoes
   XVII. Lost at Sea
  XVIII. The Bloody Corner
    XIX. The Result
     XX. On the Brink of War
    XXI. Give and Take
   XXII. What Bobby Said
  XXIII. Good News Travels Slowly
   XXIV. Red Hair Stands for More Than Temper
    XXV. The Winner




                    BOBBY BLAKE AT ROCKLEDGE SCHOOL



                               CHAPTER I

                         "THE OVERLAND LIMITED"


A boy of about ten, with a freckled face and fiery red hair cropped
close to his head, came doubtfully up the side porch steps of the Blake
house in Clinton and peered through the screen door at Meena, the
Swedish girl.

Meena was tall and rawboned, with very red elbows usually well
displayed, and her straw- hair was bound in a tight "pug" on top
of her long, narrow head.  Meena had sharp blue eyes and she could see
boys a great way off.

"Mis' Blake--she ban gone out," said Meena, before the red-haired boy
could speak.  "You vant somet'ing?  No?"

"I--I was looking for Bobby," said the visitor, stammeringly.  He and
Mrs. Blake's Swedish girl were not on good terms.

"I guess he ban gone out, too," said Meena, who did not want to be
"bothered mit boys."

The boy looked as though he thought she was a bad guesser!  Somewhere
inside the house he heard a muffled voice.  It shouted:

"Whoo! whoo! whoo-whoo-who-o-o-o!"

The imitation of a steam whistle grew rapidly nearer.  It seemed to be
descending from the roof of the house--and descending very swiftly.
Finally there came a decided bang--the landing of a pair of well-shod
feet on the rug--and the voice rang out:

"All out!  All out for last stop!  All out!"

"_That's_ Bobby," suggested the boy with the red hair, looking wistfully
into Meena's kitchen.

"Vell!" ejaculated the girl.  "You go in by the dining-room door, I
guess.  You not go to trapse through my clean kitchen.  Vipe your feet,
boy!"

The boy did as he was bade, and opened the dining-room door.  A steady
footstep was thumping overhead, rising into the upper regions of the
three-story house.

The red-haired youngster knew his way about this house just as well as
he knew his own.  Only he tripped over a corner of the dining-room rug
and bumped into two chairs in the darkened living-room before he reached
the front hall.

This was wide and was lighted above by ground-glass oval windows on all
three flights of stairs. The mahogany balustrade was in a single smooth
spiral, broken by no ornament.  It offered a tempting course from garret
to ground floor to any venturesome small boy.

"All aboard!" shouted the voice overhead.

"The Overland Limited," said the red-haired boy, grinning, and squinting
up the well.

"Ding-dong! ding-dong!  All aboard for the Overland Limited!  This way!
No stop between Denver and Chicago!  All aboard!"

There was a scramble above and then the exhaust of the locomotive was
imitated in a thin, boyish treble:

"Sh-h! sh-h! sh-h!  Choo! choo! choo! Ding-dong-ding!  We're off--"

A figure a-straddle the broad banister-rail shot into view on the upper
flight.  The momentum carried the boy around the first curve and to the
brink of the second pitch.  Down that he sped like an arrow, and so
around to the last slant of the balustrade.

"Next stop, Chi-ca-_go_!" yelled the boy on the rail.  "All o-o-out! all
out for Chicago!"

And then, bang! he landed upon the hall rug.

"How'd you know the board wasn't set against you, Bobby?" demanded the
red-haired one. "You might have had a wreck."

"Hello, Fred Martin.  If I'd looked around and seen your red head, I'd
sure thought they'd flashed a danger signal on me--though the Overland
Limited is supposed to have a clear track, you know."

Fred jumped on him for that and the two chums had a wrestling match on
the hall rug.  It was, however, a good-natured bout, and soon they sat
side by side on the lower step of the first flight, panting, and grinned
at each other.

Bobby's hair was black, and he wore it much longer than Fred.  To tell
the truth, Fred had the "Riley cut," as the boys called it, so that his
hair would not attract so much attention.

Fred had all the temper that is supposed to go with red hair.  Perhaps
red-haired people only seem more quick tempered because everybody "picks
on them" so!  Bobby was quite as boisterous as his chum, but he was more
cautious and had some control over his emotions.  Nobody ever called
Bobby Blake a coward, however.

He was a plump-cheeked, snub-nosed boy, with a wide, smiling mouth,
dancing brown eyes, and an active, sturdy body.  Like his chum, he was
ten years old.

"Thought you had to work all this forenoon, cleaning the back yard?"
said Bobby.  "That's why I stayed home.  'Fraid some of the other
fellows would want me to go off with them, and we agreed to go to
Plunkit's Creek this afternoon, you know."

"You bet you!" agreed Fred.  "I got a dandy can of worms.  Found 'em
under that pile of rubbish in the yard when I hauled it out."

"But you haven't cleared up all that old yard so soon?" determined
Bobby, shaking his head.

Fred grinned again.  "No," he said.  "I caught Buster Shea.  He's a good
fellow, Buster is.  I got him to do it for me, and paid him a cent, and
my ten glass agates, and two big alleys, and a whole cage-trap full o'
rats--five of them--we caught in our barn last night.  He's goin' to
take 'em home and see if he can tame 'em, like Poley Smith did."

"Huh!" snorted Bobby, "Poley's are _white_ rats.  You can't tame reg'lar
rats."

"That wasn't for me to tell him," returned Fred, briskly.  "Buster
thinks he can.  And, anyway, it was a good bargain without the rats.
He'll clean the yard fine."

"Then let's get a lunch from Meena and I'll find my fish-tackle, and
we'll start at once," exclaimed Bobby, jumping up.

"Ain't you got to see your mother first?"

"She knows I'm going.  She won't mind when I go, as long as I get back
in time for supper. And then--she ain't so particular 'bout what I do
just now," added Bobby, more slowly.

"Jolly!  I wish my mother was like that," breathed Fred, with a sigh of
longing.

"Huh!  I ain't so sure I like it," confessed Bobby.  "There's somethin'
goin' on in this house, Fred."

"What do you mean?" demanded his chum, staring at him.

"Pa and mother are always talkin' together, and shutting the door so I
can't come in.  And they look troubled all the time--I see 'em, when
they stare at me so.  Something's up, and I don't know what it is."

"Mebbe your father's lost all his money and you'll have to go down and
live in one of those shacks by the canal--like Buster Shea's folks,"
exclaimed the consoling Fred Martin.

"No.  'Tain't as bad as that, I guess. Mother's gone shopping for a lot
of new clothes to-day--I heard her tell Pa so at breakfast.  So it ain't
money.  It--it's just like it is before Christmas, don't you know, Fred?
When folks are hiding things around so's you won't find 'em before
Christmas morning, and joking about Santa Claus, and all that."

"Crickey!  Presents?" exclaimed Fred. "'Tain't your birthday coming,
Bob?"

"No.  I had my birthday, you know, two months ago."

"What do you s'pose it can be, then?"

"I haven't a notion," declared Bobby, shaking his head.  "But it's
something about me. Something's going to happen me--I don't know what."

"Bully!" shouted Fred, suddenly smiting him on the shoulder.  "Do you
suppose they're going to let you go to Rockledge with me this fall?"

"Rockledge School?  No such luck," groaned Bobby.  "You see, mother
won't hear of that. Your mother has a big family, Fred, and she can
spare you--"

"Glad to get rid of me for a while, I guess," chuckled the red-haired
boy.

"Well, my mother isn't.  So I can't go to boarding school with you,"
sighed Bobby.

"Well," said the restless Fred, "let's get a move on us if we're going
to Plunkit's."

"We must get some lunch," said Bobby, starting up once more.  "Say! has
Meena got the toothache again?"

"She didn't have her head tied up.  But she's real cross," admitted
Fred.

"She'll have the toothache if I ask for lunch, I know," grumbled Bobby.
"She always does. She says boys give her the toothache."

Nevertheless, he led the way to the kitchen. There the tall, angular
Swede cast an unfavorable light blue eye upon them.

"I ban jes' clean up mine kitchen," she complained.

"We just want a lunch to take fishing, Meena," said Master Bobby,
hopefully.

"You don't vant loonch to fish mit," declared Meena.  "You use vor-rms."

Fred giggled.  He was always giggling at inopportune times.  Meena
glared at him with both light blue eyes and reached for the red flannel
bandage she always kept warm back of the kitchen range.

"I ban got toothache," she said.  "I can't vool mit boys," and she
proceeded to tie the long bandage around her jaws and tied it so that
the ends--like long ears--stood right up on top of her head.

"But you can give us just a little," begged Bobby.  "We won't be back
till supper time."

This seemed to offer some comfort to the hard-working girl, and she
mumbled an agreement, while she shuffled into the pantry to get the
lunch ready.  She did not speak English very well at any time, and when
her face was tied up, it was almost impossible to understand her.

Sometimes, if Meena became offended, she would insist upon waiting on
table with this same red bandage about her jaws--even if the family had
company to dinner!  But in many ways she was invaluable to Mrs. Blake,
so the good lady bore Meena's eccentricities.

By and by the Swedish girl appeared with a box of luncheon.  The boys
dared not peek into it while they were under her eye, but they thanked
her and ran out of the house.  Fred was giggling again.

"She looks just like a rabbit--all ears--with that thing tied around her
head," he said.

"Whoever heard of a rabbit with red ears?" scoffed Bobby.

He was investigating the contents of the lunch box.  There were nice ham
sandwiches, minced eggs with mayonnaise, cookies, jumbles, a big piece
of cheese, and two berry tarts.

"Oh, Meena's bark is always worse than her bite," sighed Bobby, with
thanksgiving.

"And _this_ bite is particularly nice, eh?" said Fred, grinning at his
own pun.

"Guess we won't starve," said Bobby.

"Besides, there is a summer apple tree right down there by the
creek--don't you know?  If the apples are all yellow, you can't eat
enough to hurt you.  If they are half yellow it'll take a lot to hurt
you.  If they're right green and gnarly, about two means a hurry-up call
for Dr. Truman," and Fred Martin spoke with strong conviction, having
had experience in the matter.




                               CHAPTER II

                    APPLES AND APPLETHWAITE PLUNKIT


Bobby found the little grape basket in which he kept his fishing-tackle
on a beam in the woodshed.  Clinton was an old fashioned town, and few
people as yet owned automobiles.  There were, therefore, not many
garages, but plenty of rambling woodsheds and barns.  When all the barns
are done away with and there are nothing but garages left, boys will
lose half their chance for fun!

The Blakes' shed, and the stable and barn adjoining, offered a splendid
play-place in all sorts of weather for Bobby and his friends.  There
were a pair of horses and a cow in the stable, too. Michael Mulcahey was
the coachman, and he liked boys just as much as Meena, the Swedish girl,
disliked them.  This fact was ever a bone of contention between the old
coachman and Meena. Otherwise Michael and Meena might have gotten
married and gone to housekeeping in the little cottage at the back of
the Blake property, facing on the rear street.

"He ban _in_-courage them boys in their voolishness," accused Meena.
"Me, I don't vant no boys aroundt.  Michael, he vould haf the house
overrun mit boys.  So ve don't get married."

Just now Michael was not at the barn.  He had driven Mrs. Blake to the
neighboring city in the light carriage, on her shopping trip.  Bobby and
Fred trailed through the back gate and down the lane, leaving the gate
open.  Later Meena had to run out and chase the chickens out of the
tomato patch.  Then she tied the red bandage in a harder knot and
prepared to show herself a martyr to her mistress when it came supper
time.

Back of the Blake house the narrow street cut into a road that led right
out into the country. There were plenty of houses lining this road at
first, but gradually the distance between them became greater.

Likewise the dust in the road grew deeper.  It was not a way attractive
to automobiles, and it had not been oiled as were many of the Clinton
streets.

"Let's take off our shoes and stockings and save our shoes," suggested
Fred.  "We'll go in swimmin' before we come back, so we'll be all
clean."

"Let's," agreed Bobby, and they sat down at once and accomplished the
act in a few moments. They stuffed their stockings into their shoes,
tied the laces together and slung them about their necks.  The shoes
knocked against their shoulder-blades as they trotted on, their bare
feet scuffing up little clouds of dust.

"We raise a lot of dust--just like the Overland Limited," said Bobby,
looking back.  Bobby had once travelled west with his parents, and they
had come back by way of Denver.  He had never forgotten his long ride in
that fast train.

"Go ahead!" declared Fred.  "_I'm_ the Empire State.  You got to get up
some speed to beat _me_."

A minute later two balloons of dust could have been seen hovering over
the road to the creek--the boys were shrouded in them.  They ran,
scuffing, as hard as they could run, and kicked up an enormous cloud of
dust.

They stopped at the stile leading into Plunkits' lower pasture.  The
boys from town never went near the farmhouse.  Plunkits' was a big farm,
and this end of it was not cultivated.  If they went near the truck
patches, somebody would be sure to chase them.  There always had been a
feud between the Clinton boys and the Plunkit family.

But there wasn't a swimming hole anywhere around the town--or a fishing
stream--like the creek.  The Plunkits really had no right to drive
anybody away from the stream, for the farm bordered only one side of it.
The city boys could go across and fish from the other side all they
wanted to.  That had been long since decided.

The best swimming hole was below the boundary of the Plunkit land,
anyway, but this path across the pasture was a short-cut.

"If we see that Applethwaite Plunkit and his dog, what are we going to
do?" asked Fred, as they trotted along the sidehill path, white with
road dust from head to foot.

"Nothing.  But if he sees us, that's another matter," chuckled Bobby.

"All right.  You're the smart one.  But what will we do?"

"Run, if he isn't too near," said Bobby, practically.

"And suppose he _is_ too near?"

"