Full Download Test Bank Pathophysiology The Biologic Basis For Disease 8th Edition PDF Full Chapter
Full Download Test Bank Pathophysiology The Biologic Basis For Disease 8th Edition PDF Full Chapter
Full Download Test Bank Pathophysiology The Biologic Basis For Disease 8th Edition PDF Full Chapter
MULTIPLE CHOICE
a. Cells can produce proteins. c. Cells can take in and use nutrients.
ANS: C
In metabolic absorption, all cells take in and use nutrients and other substances from their surroundings. The
remaining options are not inclusive in their descriptions of cellular metabolic absorption.
a. Mitochondria c. Nucleolus
b. Ribosome d. Lysosome
ANS: C
The nucleus contains the nucleolus, a small dense structure composed largely of RNA, most of the cellular DNA, and
the DNA-binding proteins, such as the histones, which regulate its activity. The other options do not contain most
of a cell’s genetic information.
1. Which component of the cell produces hydrogen peroxide (H2O2) by using oxygen to remove hydrogen atoms
from specific substrates in an oxidative reaction?
a. Lysosomes c. Ribosomes
b. Peroxisomes d. Oxyhydrosomes
ANS: B
Peroxisomes are so named because they usually contain enzymes that use oxygen to
remove hydrogen atoms from specific substrates in an oxidative reaction that produces
synthesized in the nucleolus and secreted into the cytoplasm through pores in the nuclear
envelope called nuclear pore complexes. Lysosomes are saclike structures that originate
from the Golgi complex and contain more than 40 digestive enzymes called hydrolases,
which catalyze bonds in proteins, lipids, nucleic acids, and carbohydrates. Oxyhydrosomes
1. Which cell component is capable of cellular autodigestion when it is released during cell
injury?
ANS: D
The lysosomal membrane acts as a protective shield between the powerful digestive enzymes within the lysosome
and the cytoplasm, preventing their leakage into the cytoplasmic matrix. Disruption of the membrane by various
treatments or cellular injury leads to a release of the lysosomal enzymes, which can then react with their specific
substrates, causing cellular self-digestion. The other options do not correctly describe this process.
1. The enzyme is transcribed from DNA by RNA in the nucleus, proceeds to the ribosome for synthesis, and is
transported in a secretory vesicle to the cell membrane.
1. The enzyme is transcribed from RNA by DNA in the nucleus, proceeds to the lysosome for synthesis, and is
transported in an encapsulated membrane to the cell membrane.
1. The enzyme is transcribed by the mitochondria in the nucleus, proceeds to the ribosome for synthesis, and
is transported in a cytoskeleton to the cell membrane.
1. The enzyme is transcribed from DNA by RNA in the nucleus, proceeds to the Golgi complex for synthesis,
and is transported in a cytosol to the cell membrane.
ANS: A
The enzyme is transcribed from DNA by RNA in the nucleus, proceeds to the ribosome for synthesis, and is
transported in a secretory vesicle to the cell membrane. The other options do not correctly describe this process.
a. G1 c. G2 b. S d. M
ANS: B
The four designated phases of the cell cycle are: (1) the G1 phase (G = gap), which is the period between the M phase
(M = mitosis) and the start of DNA synthesis; (2) the S phase (S = synthesis), during which DNA is synthesized in
the cell nucleus; (3) the G2 phase, during which RNA and protein synthesis occurs, the period between the completion
of DNA synthesis and the next phase (M); and (4) the M phase, which includes nuclear and cytoplasmic division.
PTS: 1 REF: Page 37
receptors, transport channels for electrolytes, and enzymes to drive active pumps?
a. Lipids c. Proteins
b. Proteases d. Carbohydrates
ANS: C
Proteins act as (1) recognition and binding units (receptors) for substances moving in and out of the cell; (2) pores or
transport channels for various electrically charged particles called ions or electrolytes and specific carriers for
amino acids and monosaccharides; and
(3) specific enzymes that drive active pumps that promote the concentration of certain ions, particularly potassium
(K+), within the cell while keeping concentrations of other ions, for example, sodium (Na+), below the concentrations
found in the extracellular environment. The other options do not correctly describe this process.
apoptosis and complement cascades, may be useful in designing drug therapy for which human diseases?
ANS: B
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“That’s what I was thinking,” came from Mark. “But as we don’t know
we shouldn’t misjudge him. If he’s got this wildness in his constitution
it may be awfully hard for him to keep even as straight as he does.”
CHAPTER XIII
A CUBAN BASEBALL GAME
On the following morning the boys spent a good hour poring over the
map of Cuba. It had been decided that they should go to Matanzas
and Cardenas on the coast east of Havana, and they asked the
professor why they could not continue eastward as far as Colon and
Santa Clara.
“We can if you wish it,” answered Amos Strong.
“I see there is a railroad runs from Santa Clara to Cienfuegos on the
south coast,” said Mark. “Why not go to that port? We ought to find
some vessel there bound for Santiago.”
Willing to do what the boys desired, within reasonable limits,
Professor Strong put the matter to a vote. Four at once voted in favor
of Mark’s plan. Hockley said neither yes nor no.
“How do you vote, Jacob?” asked the professor, pleasantly.
“What’s the use of my voting?” grumbled the tall youth. “If I voted the
other way it would be four to one.”
“Have you any objection to Mark’s plan?”
“Oh, no, I reckon it’s as good as any. I think the whole of Cuba rather
stale.”
“What did you expect?”
“Oh, I want to see something of life. Do they have bull fights?”
“Not as they did formerly. But the Cubans are beginning to play
baseball,” and there was a twinkle in the professor’s eye as he
spoke.
“Humph, I can see that at home.”
“Oh, let’s go and see a game!” cried Darry. “Do you know of any
here?”
For reply the professor produced a handbill which had been given
him in the courtyard of the hotel. It stated that a game of ball would
take place that afternoon on a certain public grounds between the
Palmas of Havana and the Roosevelts of Florida.
“Say, but they are high-toned on names,” was Frank’s comment.
“The President of Cuba against the President of the United States.”
“Whoop!” cried Darry, throwing his cap into the air. “Let’s go and root
for Teddy!”
“Let’s!” shouted the others, and even Hockley brightened at the
suggestion.
The professor was quite willing to let them go, feeling that the game
would likely give Hockley something of the excitement he craved.
The matter was soon arranged, and they purchased the best seats
available.
When they reached the public grounds they found a crowd
assembled, and the ball players were already at practice on the
green field. There were several hundred Americans present, many in
carriages, and among the carriages they discovered the Valois
turnout, with Isabel Valois and a number of other young people.
“I thought I’d see you here,” declared the young lady. “No Yankee
boy can keep away from a ball game,” and she smiled as she shook
hands and was introduced to those she had not before met.
Mark was anxious to see the American players more closely. As we
know, he had always been a good ball player and had been the
captain of the team at Lakeview Academy, beating Hockley for that
position by several votes, much to the bully’s discomfiture. Now he
worked his way through the crowd close to the American players’
“bench,” in this case an awning spread to shade a certain spot on
the grass to the right of the home plate.
The ball players were all about Mark’s age, one or two a little older,
and seemed to be a jolly set. But as Mark came nearer so did one of
the team and his face wore a serious expression.
“Ronaldson is no better,” Mark heard him tell the others. “Complains
of terrible cramps.”
“Is he going to try to play?” asked one of the other players.
“Yes, but I don’t know how long he will last.”
“Then you’ll have to use Blackney.”
“I suppose so, but he’s got a sore hand and can’t half catch. We
need a good man on second base. The Palmas are going to do their
best to win this game.”
The talk interested Mark greatly and it aroused the baseball fever in
his veins. He caught the eye of one of the players and beckoned to
him.
“Are any of you fellows from New York state?” he asked.
“Yes, Len Gardell is from Rochester,” was the answer.
“I come from New York city,” went on Mark. “I’m an old ball player—
used to be captain of the Lakeview Academy nine of New
Hampshire. We once played a team from Rochester—the Silver
Stars. Can I speak to Mr. Gardell? My name is Mark Robertson.”
“Why, certainly, Mr. Robertson,” said the ball player, and held out his
hand. “My name is Bob Lee. I’m from Atlanta, Georgia. We put
ourselves down as from Florida for we have been playing there—at
several of the big hotels.”
And a minute later Mark was introduced to all of the team and made
to feel quite at home.
Having finished their chat with Isabel Valois and her companions, the
others made their way to the stand and found the seats assigned to
them. Soon all of the baseball players were out on the diamond and
the game began with the Cuban team at the bat.
“It’s funny Mark doesn’t come,” said Darry. “He always thinks so
much of a ball game.”
“He went off to see the players,” answered Frank. He looked toward
the “bench.” “I declare there he is now, talking to one of the
substitute players!”
“Then he’s at home,” laughed Darry. “You won’t get him back here,
unless the umpire drives him from the field.”
When Hockley saw Mark sitting on the “bench” he was green with
envy.
“Always getting in,” he muttered to himself. “That’s just the way he
got in on me at the academy! Confound the luck!” And then Hockley
tried to get on the field himself, but was ordered back by one of the
policemen stationed there to keep the crowd in bounds.
The boys had already learned that this game was the last of a series
of three. Each club had already won one game. A prize of a silver
cup and half of the gate money were to go to the winner of the
series.
At first glance it did not appear as if the Cuban club could play. They
seemed to toss the ball about in reckless fashion and strike out
wildly when at the bat, yet at the end of the fourth innings the score
was a tie, 3 to 3.
“This game is all right,” was Frank’s comment. “I’ve seen many a
worse one right on the Polo grounds in New York.”
“Oh, the New Yorks can’t play ball anyway,” growled Hockley.
In the next innings both clubs scored two runs, bringing the score up
to another tie. There was a beautiful running catch made by one of
the Cuban fielders and this was roundly applauded by the American
as well as the Cuban spectators.
“Give these Cubans a few more years and they’ll be as crazy for
baseball as we are,” said Darry.
In the first half of the sixth innings the Cubans scored another run. A
“pop” fly had been knocked across the diamond but the second
baseman failed to hold it. As it was a clear muff some in the crowd
groaned, at which the baseman looked more disconcerted than ever.
“Don’t groan or hiss,” said Professor Strong. “Every player is bound
to miss it sometime. That baseman did very well before. And he acts
to me as if he was sick. I’ve seen him holding his stomach several
times.”
The Roosevelts now came to the bat with a score of 6 to 5 against
them. The first player up was put out on strikes and the second on a
foul tip. The third batsman had a ball and a strike called and then
sent a long, high fly to center field.
“Hurrah!” yelled the crowd of Americans. “That’s a daisy! Run! Run!”
“It’s a home run. Go it, longlegs, go it!”
“Don’t let them stop you at third! You’ve got lots of time!”
The yelling continued. In the meantime the center fielder was racing
after the ball like mad. He caught it up just as the runner was leaving
third for the home plate and threw it to the catcher with all his
strength. But it fell short of its mark and was captured by the pitcher,
who whirled around and delivered it home just as the runner slid in
amid a cloud of dust and a yelling which could be heard for half a
mile. Then those close by saw the catcher leap for the ball, capture it
in one hand and fall in a heap on top of the man who had slid in to
victory.
“He’s safe!” was the cry, as the crowd saw the umpire keep his hand
down. “Oh, wasn’t that a dandy run!”
“And wasn’t that a dandy hit!”
It was several seconds before the dust cleared away and then it was
seen that something was wrong. The runner had been kicked in the
arm by the catcher and the latter had tumbled and bruised his knee.
Both had to be helped from the field and time was called while the
hurts were attended to by a doctor who happened to be present.
“They say that runner is out of the game,” was the report which went
the round a little later. “And that second baseman has retired too.
He’s suffering from cramps. The catcher is all right.”
“If the Roosevelts lose two men they will be one man short,” said
Sam. “They had only one substitute at the bench.”
“Perhaps the others are somewhere around,” answered Darry.
The catcher came limping up and the game was resumed. But no
more runs were made and the innings came to an end with another
tied score, 6 to 6. Then came a long wait.
“I hope they don’t call it off on account of not having another
substitute,” said Frank. And then he continued: “I wonder where
Mark is? He isn’t down at the bench.”
A minute later the American team came from their dressing room,
where they had been in conference, and ran to their various
positions on the field.
As they did so the boys in the stand gave a cry of amazement.
“Well, I never!” came from Darry.
“Is it really Mark?” questioned Sam.
“Of course it is!” shouted Frank, leaping to his feet and swinging his
cap. “It’s Mark, and he’s going to play second base!”
CHAPTER XIV
WINNING A VICTORY
Frank was right, one of the two substitute players to go forth was
really Mark, and he had run across the diamond to fill the important
position mentioned.
The explanation of this state of affairs is very simple. On being
introduced to the player from Rochester Mark had discovered that he
had met the fellow before, and a long talk on baseball matters
followed. Then Mark was introduced to the captain of the team, who
told of the way they were handicapped with only one substitute
player, two others having disappointed him, and of the fact that the
second baseman was liable to give out at any moment.
After the muff already mentioned the second baseman refused to
play longer and had to be excused. Then came the accident at the
home plate and the team found itself short a man.
“I’ll fill that place,” came from Mark. “I think I can give satisfaction.
Anyway, I’ll try my best.”
“Give him the chance,” came from the Rochester player, and so it
was decided, the captain thinking he could remove Mark at the end
of one innings if the youth proved “a stick,” as he put it.
It was natural for the boys to give a cheer, and they did so with a will,
even Professor Strong joining in, for he was almost as enthusiastic
as anybody. Mark heard and saw them and waved his hand. He had
slipped on a player’s suit, as well as a cap and a pair of baseball
shoes and, to use Frank’s words, “he looked the real thing.”
But there was one in the crowd who did not fancy the turn affairs had
taken. I doubt if there is need to state that this was Hockley.
“Humph! so he has wormed his way in with them,” he muttered. “I
hope he loses the game.”
The ardor of the Americans among the spectators was considerably
dampened when the two substitutes appeared. With the score a tie
and only three more innings to play it was felt that the Roosevelts
would have to put forth their very best efforts in order to win.
The seventh inning was over in remarkably short order. There was
but one base hit, made by the Cubans, and this runner “died” at
third. Mark had next to nothing to do at second, nor did he come to
the bat. But the other substitute came to the plate, and when he
“fanned the air” for three strikes a deep groan went up.
“The subs are no good! Might as well give up the game!” cried some
of the hasty ones.
In the next inning the Cubans managed by good luck to score two
runs. In this inning Mark might have put one of the runners out at
second, but the ball was thrown so high up that only his finger tip
touched it. Yet this counted as an error for him and the other players
looked far from pleased.
“I knew it,” muttered Hockley to Sam. “He can’t play—he isn’t in
practice.”
“Jake Hockley, you ought to be ashamed!” retorted Sam, and then
turned his back on the lank youth.
With the score 8 to 6 in their favor the Palmas came to the bat for the
last time. One man went out on strikes and the next on a foul. Then
came the third, a heavy-set fellow, who “lined it out” straight for the
pitcher.
It was a “hot” ball, far too hot for that pitcher to take, even in a last
inning, and he hardly made a move for it. But Mark made a leap, and
almost before the spectators realized what was up, he held the
sphere in his left hand and the umpire had called “out!”
“Hurrah!” yelled Frank. “That’s the stuff!” And the others followed in a
cheer, while Professor Strong’s face wore a broad smile. This game
of ball made him feel a good deal like a boy again.
“Two runs to tie the score and three to win the game,” said more
than one player of the Roosevelts as they took their positions at the
“bench.” “Oh, we must get together and do something. We can’t
allow these Cubans to win the series.”
The first player to the bat was the left fielder. He was usually counted
a careful hitter and nobody was surprised when he reached first
base in safety. But the others were sorry he had not made third, or at
least second.
There followed an out on strikes and aided by a short passed ball,
the runner reached third, taking desperate chances. Then came a
short hit which took the batter to first by “fielder’s choice,” the ball
being thrown in to cover the home plate. But the man on third was
wise and stayed there.
“Hilgard to the bat, Robertson on deck!” sang out the scorer, and
Mark’s heart gave a thump. Was it possible that the result of this
game was to depend upon him?
In another moment he knew, for Hilgard went out on strikes, amid a
mad yelling from the Cubans. There were now two out, so the whole
result of that contest rested upon Mark’s shoulders.
“You must do it, Mark!” yelled Frank, at the top of his lungs. “Go in,
old boy, and win! Whoop her up for old Lakeview!” And then the
others took up the cry, that is, all but Hockley, who, true to his
nickname, remained as glum as ever.
When Mark stepped up to the home plate it was with a determination
to “do or die” right then and there. He grasped the ash stick firmly,
planted his feet and took a good, hard hold of his nerves.
The Cuban pitcher eyed him curiously. He was a “new proposition”
and the pitcher hardly knew how to handle him. He stepped back,
gave the catcher a sign, and delivered a swift out curve. Mark let it
go by.
“Ball one!” called the umpire.
“That’s right, take your time!” yelled Frank. He was standing up and
so was everybody else in the stand.
In came the ball again and this time Mark struck at it but missed.
“Strike one!”
A loud yelling went up from the Cubans.
Mark took a firmer grip than ever. It must be confessed that he was
in an agony of mind. What if he should “fan out?” He was certain that
club would never forgive him. And he was equally certain that he
should never forgive himself.
And then came a ball waist high and directly over the plate, a
beautiful ball, and just where Mark wanted it. Around came the bat in
one swift drive. There was a crack, and the ball went sailing down
into deep center field.
On the instant the crowd in the stand were yelling like so many
demons and Frank was dancing up and down as if he had suddenly
gone crazy. Mark had reached first—he was already on his way to
second, and still the center fielder was chasing after that ball, which
kept bouncing on and on just out of his reach. One runner crossed
the home plate and the second followed almost on his heels. The
catcher was yelling and so was the captain of the Palmas but
nobody heard them. Mark, his breath coming thick and fast was fairly
leaping through the air on his way to third. Here the baseman made
a feint as if to catch the ball and Mark ducked and slid in to the bag.
“Go on! Go on!” yelled the coach, and a hundred others, and Mark
glanced back, to see that the fielder was just picking up the ball. How
he got to his feet he never knew, but off he started for home, amid a
yelling that was louder than ever. He came over like the wind, to sink
exhausted near the “bench,”—and then the ball came in.
The game was won!
“Hurrah for Mark!” Frank fairly screamed, and made a wild leap into
the field, followed by Sam and Darry, and even the professor, and in
another moment the enclosure was black with people. All the
Americans were shouting loudly, while the Cubans had but little to
say.
“He must be a first-class professional,” said one Cuban.
“Nothing of the kind,” retorted Frank, who heard the remark. “He is
only an academy player. He never played on a professional team in
his life.”
The players on the Roosevelt nine were not slow in congratulating
Mark, and had he allowed it they would have carried him around the
field on their shoulders. But Mark was too modest for this, and as
soon as possible escaped to the dressing room.
“Oh, say, but it was great!” burst out Darry, as he wrung Mark’s hand.
“Better than anything I ever saw at Lakeview.”
“You fairly lifted the crowd off its feet with that home run,” put in Sam.
“Even the professor was yelling like a senior.”
“Was I?” the question came from Amos Strong himself, who stood
behind Sam. “Well, I fancy the game was worth it,” he added, but
looked rather sheepish for a second.
The Roosevelts insisted upon giving Mark a supper that night (since
he had refused to accept part of the gate money for his services),
and a good time was had until late in the evening. Frank
accompanied Mark, and during that festive hour the lads made
several warm friends.
“But the Cubans played a good game,” observed Darry, to Sam,
while they and Hockley and the professor were waiting for Mark and
Frank to return. “It was nip-and-tuck from start to finish.”
“That hit by Mark was a fluke,” grumbled Hockley. “I’ll bet a thousand
dollars he can’t do it again.”
“Perhaps it was a fluke,” returned Sam, dryly. “But, just the same,
Glummy, you’ll never have such a fluke happen to you;” and then
Sam turned his back on the bully.
Hockley sauntered off to his sleeping apartment all out of sorts both
with himself and everybody around him.
“After this they’ll be more stuck on themselves than ever,” he
growled. “And they won’t want anything to do with me. But never
mind, I’ll fix them yet, see if I don’t!”
CHAPTER XV
HOCKLEY TAKES A BATH AND GIVES ONE
On the following day Professor Strong and the boys received a call
from Isabel Valois and her father, the latter having just returned
home from a business trip. Señor Valois was delighted to meet the
professor once more, and an interview pleasing to both ensued,
lasting an hour. In the meantime pretty Isabel talked to the boys and
especially to Mark.
“It was splendid, that baseball hit!” cried the girl, enthusiastically. “I
hated to see our Cuban club lose but I couldn’t help admire the
beautiful way in which you played.” And Mark blushed like a girl and
could hardly stammer out his thanks for her kind words.
Señor Valois was telling the professor of his various plantations
when another visitor was announced. This proved to be January
Jones, who had been waiting patiently to see Amos Strong about the
position which had been more than half promised. As a result of this
visit January was given work as overseer’s assistant on a Valois’s
plantation ten miles out of Havana. This proved to be just what the
darkey wanted and he was correspondingly happy.
Matanzas lies east of Havana about sixty miles and Cardenas is
about twenty miles further. As said before, both are seaports, the first
named lying almost due south from Key West. The railroad from
Havana runs direct to Matanzas, but to get to Cardenas one must
journey first to the little inland town of Jovellanos.
The trip eastward was begun bright and early on the following week
and proved full of interest. The cars were crowded and the boys
noticed that many of the travelers seemed well-to-do.
“Matanzas is, as a commercial city, next in importance to Havana,”
said the professor as they rode along. “It has a large shipping and
the population is nearly forty thousand. Not far from the city are
located the Caves of Bellamar. I never visited them, but they are said
to be of uncommon interest and beauty.”
“Let us go by all means!” cried Darry. “I just love caves and
volcanoes and high mountains.”
Matanzas was reached in the middle of the forenoon, and before
dining they paid a visit to the fortifications which had taken active
part in the war, and also to a number of public buildings. Then they
dined, and after that set out for the caves on muleback, along with a
native guide, who owned the mules and who said he could take them
around to every point of interest.
The mule he rode interested Darry very much, for, as old readers
know, he took naturally to any animal that could be saddled. The
mule was not very large, but he looked powerful and his gait proved
a surprise.
“I really believe he could win a race on a pinch!” said Darry.
“Do you?” queried Hockley. “I’ll go you for a mile.”
Darry was surprised to receive such a challenge from the lank youth,
but he did not hesitate to accept, and away went both lads before
either the professor or the guide could stop them.
At first it was nip-and-tuck, for Hockley’s beast was also swift of foot,
and it was not long before the racers passed out of sight beyond a
turn. Professor Strong began to look serious but the Cuban guide
only smiled.
“They will not run far,” he said, in Spanish. “And when they drop into
a walk they will pay up for their speed by going slower than ever.”
Nevertheless, the others set off after the two in advance, for the
guide feared they would take to the wrong road, one leading into the
country and away from the caves.
This was just what Darry and Hockley did, and soon they came to
what was little better than a rough trail, with thatched huts on either
side. The mules kept together at first but presently Darry forged
ahead.
“Whoop I here we go!” he yelled. “Look out for the mountain
express!” And then he had to cling fast, as the mule switched his
heavy-ended tail and kicked up with his rear hoofs.
Soon Darry reached what seemed to be the middle of a settlement,
with huts on all sides. Here was a big stone cistern, filled with water,
and with the top wide open. Several natives were at hand, some of
them with buckets and shells.
As soon as he reached the cistern the mule Darry rode came to an
abrupt halt. Looking back the boy saw that Hockley was now having
his hands full with his steed, which was rearing and plunging in a
most surprising fashion.
“Look out, Glummy, or he’ll throw you!” he sang out. “He’s getting his
dander up!”
“He shan’t throw me!” panted Hockley. “I’ll show him who is master!”
And he hit the mule on the neck with his fist.
By this time the professor and the other boys came riding up, along
with the guide. Hockley’s mule kept dancing around, and they had to
move from one spot to another to keep out of the way.
“Better get off!” began Professor Strong, when of a sudden the mule
made a sudden bolt forward.
Four leaps took the animal to the low wall of the cistern and here he
stopped abruptly. Then up went his rear hoofs like lightning and in an
instant Hockley was thrown into the air. Down came the youth head
first, to strike the water with a loud splash, and then he disappeared
from sight.
A perfect roar of laughter went up, both from the boys and from the
natives, and Professor Strong kept a straight face with difficulty. It
was a truly comical sight, and when Hockley came up the boys had
to laugh still more. In going down the lank youth’s head had touched
the unclean bottom of the cistern and now his hair and face were
covered with a greenish mud and slime awful to behold.
“Hel—help me out, somebody!” he spluttered, blowing the water from
his mouth.
“I’ll help you,” answered the professor, and leaping to the ground he
gave the unfortunate one his hand. Getting out of the cistern was
easy and in a moment more Hockley stood in the roadway brushing
the water and dirt from him and glaring savagely at Darry and the
others.
“It ain’t no laughing matter!” he howled. “You shut up, or I’ll give you
something to laugh about.”
“It’s too bad, Glummy,” began Mark, when he could suppress his
feelings sufficiently to speak. “But you did look so funny——”
“I don’t want you to talk to me!” stormed Hockley, working himself up
into a perfect rage. “You are all against me. I’m going back to the
city, and maybe I’ll start for home to-morrow.”
“Be calm, Jacob,” put in the professor. “It was truly unfortunate, but
there is no occasion for making matters worse by losing control of
your temper. I dare say if I had been thrown into the cistern all of you
would have laughed just as hard.”
“I don’t care, they are all down on me!” grumbled Hockley.
“I believe you only imagine it. Come, we will find some place where
you can wash up and have your clothing dried.”
“I’ll go back to the hotel and change my clothing. I don’t want to see
the caves.”
Hockley was obdurate, and in the end he was allowed to depart,
after having washed up in a nearby hut. A native conducted him
back to the city, so that he might not lose his way. Once at the hotel
he lost no time in getting some liquor and a package of cigarettes,
and, in the privacy of a room the party had engaged, lay down to
read another “thriller” he had purchased before leaving Havana. But
he was full of bitterness, and his resolve to “fix” the others was
greater than ever.
The trip to the Caves of Bellamar proved of interest to the boys, who
brought with them upon their return a number of specimens of
beautifully colored stones to be found there. While in the caves they
had great sport with the echoes, and the guide pointed out to them a
spot in which over a hundred Cubans had been imprisoned and
starved to death in years gone by, during one of the awful uprisings
in that part of the island.
When the boys got back to Matanzas they were glad enough to rest
in the patio of the hotel before attempting to re-arrange their toilets
and dine. Mark and Frank sank into one hammock and Darry and
Sam in another, while Professor Strong rested in an easy chair not
far away.
While they were resting, Hockley, whose room was directly above
the patio, heard them talking, and their apparent happiness caused a
sour look to spread over his face.
“If only they had gone into that cistern instead of me!” he muttered to
himself, and then his eyes rested on a bowl of dirty water he had left
on the washstand. “Just the thing!” he added. “I’ll see how they like
it.”
To catch up the bowl of dirty water was but the work of an instant
and he crossed to the window under which the boys were sitting. But
then he paused.
“If I throw it from here, they’ll know I did it,” he reasoned. “I’ll go into
the hallway.”
The hallway led around a corner, and here was another window, also
opening upon the courtyard. The place was deserted and the
window was wide open. Looking to make sure that he was not
observed, Hockley threw the water out and then turned and ran with
all speed for his own room. He put the bowl where it belonged, went
outside again, locked the door, and ran down the front stairs, leading
to the hotel reading room.
The bully’s aim was true, and the scattering water covered all four of
the boys pretty thoroughly, and even the professor did not escape
entirely.
“My gracious, what’s this!” spluttered Mark, who caught some in his
eyes. “Who threw that water down on me?”
He leaped up and so did the others. They gazed up at the hall
window but could see nobody. Yet they knew that it had come from
there and in the mind of each rushed the same thought:
“Hockley!”
“Of course he did it!” cried Darry, brushing off his shoulders. “He
wants to pay us for laughing at him.”
“I’ll pay him!” returned Sam, and made a dash for the doorway of the
hotel, before Professor Strong could stop him. The others came
behind, the professor calling out that they must behave themselves.
It puzzled them greatly to find the door to the room locked. They
pounded in vain and then had to wait until Professor Strong opened
the door to the apartment adjoining. Then they passed through a
connecting door.
“Nobody here,” said Sam, staring around. “If he did it he got out in
mighty quick order.”
“Nobody in the hall,” came from Mark, who had taken a look around.
“But I don’t believe a servant would have thrown that water into the
garden.”
“The wash bowl is empty and the pitcher is less than half full,” came
from Frank. “The pitcher was full when we left—the servant just
came and filled it.”
“Let’s look for Hockley,” was Darry’s advice, but fearing a bitter
quarrel and perhaps a fight, the professor told them to leave the big
youth alone and prepare themselves for supper. As all were more
than ordinarily hungry, this changed the current of their thoughts and
they did as requested.
When they entered the dining hall they found Hockley waiting for
them. He put on an injured air.
“Thought you were never coming to dine,” he grumbled. “Next time I
guess I’ll eat alone.”
“You may, Jacob, if you feel too hungry to wait,” answered the
professor.
“Say, Hockley, did you—” began Mark, when Frank pinched his arm.
“Don’t let on,” whispered Frank to his chum. “If he doesn’t know
anything about it don’t give him the chance to laugh at us.”
“Did I what?” questioned the bully.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” answered Mark, unconcernedly.
And there, for the time being, the affair rested.
CHAPTER XVI
GOOD-BYE TO CUBA