The purple pennant

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. Fudge Is Interrupted i

II. The Try-out . II

Chapter I Fudge Is Interrupted

K EYS/ ” murmured Fudge Shaw dreamily, “ ‘please’ — ‘knees’ — ‘breeze’ — I’ve used that — ‘pease’ — ‘sneeze’ — Oh, piffle !” His in-

spired gaze returned to the tablet before him and he read aloud the lines inscribed thereon :

“O Beauteous Spring, thou art, I ween,

The best of all the Seasons,

Because you clothe the Earth with green And for numerous other reasons.

“You make the birds sing in the trees,

The April breeze to blow,

The Sun to shine ”

“ ‘The Sun to shine ,’ ” he muttered raptly,

“ ‘The Sun to shine’ ; ‘squeeze’ — ‘tease’ — ‘fleas’

Gee, I wish I hadn’t tried to rhyme all the lines. Now, let’s see : ‘You make the birds ’ ”

i

“ O Fudge! Fudge Shaw!”

Fudge raised his head and peered through the young leaves of the apple-tree in which he was perched, along the side yard to where, leaning over the fence, was a lad of about Fudge’s age. The visitor alternately directed his gaze toward the tree and the house, for it was Sunday afternoon and Perry Hull was doubtful of the propriety of hailing his friend in week-day manner.

“Hello, Perry, come on in!” called Fudge. And thereupon he detached the “Ode to Spring” from the tablet, hastily folded it and put it in his pocket. When Perry climbed the ladder which led to the platform some eight feet above the ground Fudge was in the act of closing a Latin book with a tired air.

“What are you doing?” asked Perry. He was a nice-looking chap of fifteen, with steady darkbrown eyes, hair a shade or two lighter and a capable and alert countenance. He swung himself lithely over the rail instead of crawling under, as was Fudge’s custom, and seated himself on the narrow bench beyond the books.

“Sort of studying,” answered Fudge, ostentatiously shoving the books further away and scowling distastefully at them. “Where have you been?”

“Just moseying around. Peach of a day, isn’t it?”

FUDGE IS INTERRUPTED

It was. It had rained until nearly dinner time, and grass and leaves were still beaded with moisture which an ardent April sun was doing its best to burn away. It was the first spring-like day in over a week of typical April weather during which Clearheld had remained under gray skies. Fudge assented to Perry’s observation, but it was to be seen that his thoughts were elsewhere. His lips moved soundlessly. Perry viewed him with surprise and curiosity, but before he could demand an explanation of his host’s abstraction Fudge burst forth triumphantly.

“ ‘B-b-bees!’ ” exclaimed Fudge. (Excitement always caused him to stammer, a fact which his friends were aware of and frequently made use of for their entertainment.) Perry involuntarily ducked his head and looked around.

“Where?” he asked apprehensively.

“Nowhere.” Fudge chuckled. “I was just thinking of something.”

“Huh !” Perry settled back again. “You’re crazy, I guess. Better come for a walk and you’ll feel better.”

“Can’t.” Fudge looked gloomily at the books. “Got to study.”

“Then I’ll beat it.”

“Hold on, can’t you? You don’t have to go yet.

I — there isn’t such an awful hurry.” The truth was that Fudge was not an enthusiastic pedestrian, a fact due partly to his physical formation and partly to a disposition contemplative rather than active. Nature had endowed Fudge — his real name, by the way, was William — with a rotund body and capable but rather short legs. Walking for the mere sake of locomotion didn’t appeal to him. He would have denied indignantly that he was lazy, and, to do him justice, he wasn’t. With Fudge it was less a matter of laziness than discrimination. Give him something to do that interested him — such as playing baseball or football — and Fudge would willingly, enthusiastically work his short legs for all that was in them, but this thing of deliberately tiring oneself out with no sensible end in view — well, Fudge couldn’t see it! He had a round face from which two big blue eyes viewed the world with a constant expression of surprise. His hair was sandy-red, and he was fifteen, almost sixteen, years old.

^It’s too nice a day to sit around and do nothing,” objected Perry. "Why don’t you get your studying done earlier?”

"I meant to, but I had some writing to do.” Fudge looked important. Perry smiled slightly. "I finished that story I told you about.”

"Did you?” Perry strove to make his question 4

FUDGE IS INTERRUPTED

sound interested. “Are you going to have it printed ?”

“Maybe,” replied the other carelessly. “It’s a pippin, all right, Perry ! It’s nearly fourteen thousand words long! What do you know about that, son? Maybe Pll send it to the Reporter and let them publish it. Or maybe I’ll send it to one of the big New York magazines. I haven’t decided yet. Dick says I ought to have it typewritten ; that the editors won’t read it unless it is. But it costs like anything. Morris Brent has a typewriter and he said I could borrow it, but I never wrote on one of the things and I suppose it would take me a month to do it, eh? Seems to me if the editors want good stories they can’t afford to be so plaguey particular. Besides, my writing’s pretty easy reading just as soon as you get used to it.”

“You might typewrite the first two or three sheets,” suggested Perry, with a chuckle, “and then perhaps the editor would be so anxious to know how it ended he’d keep right on. What are you going to call it, Fudge?”

Fudge shook his head. “I’ve got two or three good titles. ‘The Middleton Mystery’ is one of them. Then there’s ‘Young Sleuth’s Greatest Case.’ I guess that’s too long, eh?”

“I like the first one better.”

4 ‘Yes. Then I thought of ‘Tracked by Anarchists.* How’s that sound to you?”

“ ‘The Meredith Mystery* is the best,** replied Perry judicially.

“ ‘Middleton,* ** corrected Fudge. “Yep, I guess it’ll be that. I told that fellow Potter about it and he said if I’d let him take it he’d see about getting it published in the Reporter. He’s a sort of an editor, you know. But I guess the Reporter isn’t much of a paper, and a writer who’s just starting out has to be careful not to cheapen himself, you see.”

“Will he pay you for it ?” asked Perry.

“He didn’t say. I don’t suppose so. Lots of folks don’t get paid for their first things, though. Look at — look at Scott; and — and Thackeray, and — lots of ’em! You don’t suppose they got paid at first, do you ?”

“Didn’t they?” asked Perry in some surprise.

“Oh, maybe Thackeray got a few dollars,” hedged Fudge, “but what was that? Look what he used to get for his novels afterwards!”

Perry obligingly appeared deeply impressed, although he secretly wondered what Thackeray did get afterwards. However, he forebore to ask, which was just as well, I fancy. Instead, tiring of Fudge’s literary affairs, he observed: “Well, I hope they print it for you, anyway. And maybe 6

FUDGE IS INTERRUPTED they’ll take another one and pay for that. Say, aren’t you going out for baseball, Fudge ?”

“Oh, I’m going out, I guess, but it won’t do any good. I don’t intend to sit around on the bench half the spring and then get fired. The only place I’d stand any chance of is the outfield, and I suppose I don’t hit well enough to make it. You going to try?”

Perry shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I can’t play much. Warner Jones told me the other day that if I’d come out he’d give me a good chance. I suppose he thinks I can play baseball because I was on the Eleven.”

“Well, gee, if you could get to first you’d steal all the other bases, I’ll bet,” said Fudge admiringly. “You sure can run, Perry!”

“Y-yes, and that makes me think that maybe I could do something on the Track Team. What do you think, Fudge ?”

“Bully scheme ! Go out for the sprints ! Ever try the hundred ?”

“No, I’ve never run on the track at all. How fast ought I to run the hundred yards, Fudge, to have a show ?”

“Oh, anything under eleven seconds would do, I suppose. Maybe ten and four-fifths. Know what you can do it in?”

“No, I never ran it. I’d like to try, though”

“Why don’t you? Say, I’ve got a stop-watch in the house. You wait here and I’ll get it and we’ll go

over to the track and ”

“Pshaw, I couldn’t run in these clothes!”

“Well, you can take your coat and vest off, can’t you? And put on a pair of sneakers? Of course, you can’t run as fast, but you can show what you can do. Perry, I’ll just bet you anything you’ve got the making of a fine little sprinter ! You wait here ; •I won’t be a minute.”

“But it’s Sunday, Fudge, and the field will be

locked, and — and you’ve got your lessons ”

“They can wait,” replied Fudge, dropping to the ground and making off toward the side door. “We’ll try the two-twenty, too, Perry !”

He disappeared and a door slammed. Perry frowned in the direction of the house. “Silly chump!” he muttered. Then he smiled. After all, why not? He did want to know if he could run, and, if they could get into the field, which wasn’t likely, since it was Sunday and the gates would be locked, it would be rather fun to try it ! He wondered just how fast ten and four-fifths seconds was. He wished he hadn’t done so much walking since dinner, for he was conscious that his legs were a bit tired. At that moment in his reflections there came 8

FUDGE IS INTERRUPTED a subdued whistle from the house and Fudge waved to him.

“Come on,” he called in a cautious whisper. “Fve got it. And the sneakers, too.” He glanced a trifle apprehensively over his shoulder while he awaited Perry’s arrival and when the latter had joined him he led the way along the side path in a quiet and unostentatious manner suggesting a desire to depart unobserved. Once out of sight of the house, however, his former enthusiasm returned. “We’ll climb over the fence,” he announced. “I know a place where it isn’t hard. Of course, we ought to have a pistol to start with, but I guess it will do if I just say ‘Go !’ ” He stopped indecisively. “Gordon has a revolver,” he said thoughtfully. “We might borrow it. Only, maybe he isn’t home. I haven’t seen him all day.”

“Never mind, we don’t need it,” said Perry, pulling him along. “He’d probably want to go along with us, Fudge, and I don’t want any audience. I dare say I won’t be able to run fast at all.”

“Well, you mustn’t expect too much the first time,” warned the other. “A chap’s got to be in condition, you know. You’ll have to train and — and all that. Ever do any hurdling?”

“No, and I don’t think I could.”

“It isn’t hard once you’ve caught the knack of it.

THE PURPLE PENNANT I was onl/ thinking that if you had plenty of steam you might try sprints and hurdles both. All we’d have to do would be to set the hurdles up. I know where they’re kept. Then ”

“Now, look here,” laughed Perry, “I’m willing to make a fool of myself trying the hundred-yard dash, Fudge, but I’m not going to keep you entertained all the rest of the afternoon.”

“All right, we’ll just try the hundred and the two-twenty.”

“No, we won’t either. We’ll just try the hundred. Will those shoes fit me? And oughtn’t they to have spikes ?”

“Sure, they ought, but they haven’t. We’ll have to make allowance for that, I guess. And they’ll have to fit you because they’re all we’ve got. I guess you wear about the same size that I do. Here we are! Now we’ll go around to the Louise Street side; there’s a place there we can climb easily.”

Chapter II

T HE High School Athletic Field — it was officially known as Brent Field — occupied two whole blocks in the newer part of town. The school had used it for a number of years, but only last summer, through the generosity of Mr. Jonathan Brent, Clearfield’s richest and most prominent citizen, had it come into actual possession of the field. The gift had been as welcome as unexpected and had saved the school from the difficult task of finding a new location for its athletic activities. But, unfortunately, the possession of a large tract of ground in the best residential part of the town was proving to have its drawbacks. The taxes were fairly large, repairs to stands and fences required a constant outlay, the field itself, while level enough, was far from smooth, and the cinder track, a make-shift affair at the beginning, stood badly in need of reconstruction. Add to these expenses the minor ones of water rent, insurance on buildings and care-taking and you will ii

THE PURPLE PENNANT see i :he Athletic Association had something to thipfcud^ut

town folks always spoke of it as “the town/* altfentgh it was, as a matter of fact, a city and boasted of over seventeen thousand inhabitants — supported the High School athletic events, notably football and baseball, generously enough, but it was already evident to those in charge that the receipts from gridiron and diamond attractions would barely keep the field as it was and would not provide money for improvements. There had been some talk of an endowment fund from Mr. Brent, but whether that gentleman had ever said anything to warrant .the rumor or whether it had been started by someone more hopeful than veracious was a matter for speculation. At any rate, no endowment fund had so far materialized and the Athletic Committee’s finances were at a low ebb. Two sections of grandstand had been replaced in the fall, and that improvement promised to be the last for some time, unless, as seemed improbable, the Committee evolved some plan whereby to replenish its treasury. Various schemes had been suggested, such as a public canvass of the town and school. To this, however, Mr. Grayson, the Principal, had objected. It was not, he declared, right to ask the citizens to contribute funds for such a purpose. Nor would he allow a petition to the Board of Education. In 1 Mr. Grayson as good as said that now that the sc 1 had been generously presented with an athletic :ld it was up to the school to look after it. Raising i ney amongst the students he had no objection to, but the amount obtainable in that manner was too small to make it worth while. The plan of raising the price of admission to baseball and football from twenty-five cents to fifty was favored by some, while others feared that it would keep so many away from the contests that there would be no profit in it. In short, the Committee was facing a difficult problem and with no solution in sight. And the field, from its patched, rickety, high board fence to grandstands and dressing-rooms, loudly demanded succor. Fudge voiced the general complaint when, having without difficulty mounted the fence and dropped to the soggy turf inside, followed more lithely by Perry Hull, he viewed the cinder track with disfavor. The recent rain had flooded it from side to side, and, since it was lower than the ground about it and had been put down with little or no provision for drainage, inch-deep puddles still lingered in the numerous depressions.

“We can’t practice here,” said Perry.

“Wouldn’t that agonize you?” demanded Fudge. “Gee, what’s the good of having an athletic field 13

THE PURPLE PENNANT if you can’t keep it up? This thing is g-g-going to be a regular w-w-white elephant!”

“It looks pretty soppy, doesn’t it?” asked Perry. “I guess we’d better wait until it’s drier. I don’t mind running, but I wasn’t counting on having to swim !”

“Maybe it’s better on the straightaway',” responded Fudge more cheerfully. “We’ll go over and see.”

As luck had it, it was drier on the far side of the field, and Fudge advanced the plea that by keeping close to the outer board Perry could get along without splashing much. Perry, however, ruefully considered his Sunday trousers and made objections.

“But it isn’t mud,” urged Fudge. “It’s just a little water. That won’t hurt your trousers a bit. And you can reef them up some, too. Be a sport, Pen*}"! Gee, I’d do it in a minute if I could!”

“Guess that’s about what I’ll do it in,” said the other. “Well, all right. Here goes. Give me the sneakers.”

“Here they are. Guess we’d better go down to the seats and change them, though. It’s too damp to sit down here.”

So they walked to the grandstand at the turn and Perry pulled off his boots and tried the sneakers on. They were a little too large, but he thought they 14 would do. Fudge suggested stuffing some paper in the toes, but as there was no paper handy that plan was abandoned. Perry’s hat, coat and vest were laid beside his boots and he turned up the bottoms of his trousers. Then they walked along the track, skirting puddles or jumping over them. Fortunately, they had the field to themselves, thanks to locked gates, something Perry was thankful for when Fudge, discouraging his desire to have the event over with at once, insisted that he should prance up and down the track and warm up.

“You can’t run decently until you’ve got your legs warm and your muscles limber,” declared Fudge wisely. “And you’d better try a few starts, too.”

So, protestingly, Perry danced around where he could find a dry stretch, lifting his knees high in the manner illustrated by Fudge, and then allowed the latter to show him how to crouch for the start.

“Put your right foot up to the line,” instructed Fudge. “Here, I’ll scratch a line across for you. There. Now put your foot up to that — your right foot, silly! That’s your left! Now put your left knee alongside it and your hands down. That’s it, only you want to dig a bit of a hole back there for your left foot, so you’ll get away quick. Just scrape 15 out the cinders a little. All right. Now when I say 'Set/ you come up and lean forward until the weight comes on your front foot and hands; most on your foot; your hands are just to steady yourself with. That’s the trick. Now then; 'On your mark !’ Wait ! I didn’t say 'Set !’ ”

“Oh, well, cut out the trimmings,” grumbled Perry. “I can’t stay like this forever. Besides, I’d rather start on the other foot, anyway.”

“All right; some fellows do,” replied Fudge, untroubled, neglecting to explain that he had made a mistake. Perry made the change and expressed his satisfaction.

“That’s more like it. Say, how do you happen to know so much about it, Fudge?”

“Observation, son. Now, all right? Ready to try it? Set! . . . Go!”

Perry went, but he stumbled for the first three or four steps and lost his stride completely.

“You had your weight on your hands instead of your feet,” commented the instructor. “Try it again.”

He tried it many times, at last becoming quite interested in the problem of getting away quickly and steadily, and finally Fudge declared himself satisfied. “Now I’ll stand back here a ways where I can start you and at the same time see when you cross the line 16 down there. Of course, we ought to have another fellow here to help, but I guess I can manage all right.” He set his stop-watch, composed his features into a stern frown and retired some twentyyards back from the track and half that distance nearer the finish line. “On your mark!” called Fudge. “Set! . . . Go!”

Perry sped from the mark only to hear Fudge’s arresting voice. “Sorry, Perry, but I forgot to start the watch that time. Try it again.”

“That’s a fine trick! I had a bully getaway,” complained the sprinter. “Make it good this time, Fudge; I’m getting dog-tired!”

“I will. Now, then! On your mark! . . . Set! . . . Go!”

Off leaped Perry again, not quite so nicely this time, and down the wet path he sped, splashing through the puddles, head back, legs twinkling. And, as though trying to make pace for him, Fudge raced along on the turf in a valiant endeavor to judge the finish. Perry’s Sunday trousers made a gray streak across the line, Fudge pressed convulsively on the stem of the watch and the trial was over !

“Wh-what was it?” inquired Perry breathlessly as he walked back. Fudge was staring puzzledly at the dial.

“I made it twelve seconds,” he responded dubiously.

“Twelve ! And you said I’d ought to do it under eleven!” Perry viewed him discouragedly.

“Well, maybe I didn’t snap it just when I should have,” said the timer. “It’s hard to see unless you’re right at the line.”

“You must have! I’ll bet anything I did it better than twelve. Don’t you think I did ?”

“Well, it looked to me as if you were going pretty fast,” answered Fudge cautiously. “But those trousers, and not having any spikes, and the track being so wet — Gee, but you did get splashed, didn’t you ?”

“I should say so,” replied Perry, observing his trousers disgustedly. “The water even went into my face! Say, let’s try it again, Fudge, and you stand here at the finish.”

“All right, but how’ll I start you?”

“Wave a handkerchief or something?”

“I’ve got it. I’ll clap a couple of sticks together.” So Fudge set out to find his sticks while Perry, rather winded, seated himself on the stand. Fudge finally came back with the required articles and Perry declared himself rested and ready for another trial. “I’ll clap the sticks together first for you to get set and then for the start. Like this.” Fudge illustrated. “Suppose you can hear it?”

m w

“ ‘Oi{ your mark ! . . .

Set!

“Sure.” Perry proceeded back to the beginning of the straightaway and Fudge stationed himself at the finish, scuffling a line across the track for his better guidance. Then, while the sprinter was getting his crouch, he experimented with slapping the sticks and snapping the watch at the same instant, a rather difficult proceeding.

“All ready !” shouted Perry, poised on finger-tips and knee.

“All right!” called Fudge in response. He examined his watch, fixed a finger over the stem, took a deep breath and clapped the sticks. Perry set. Another clap and a simultaneous jab at the watch, and Perry was racing down the track. Fudge’s eyes took one fleeting look at the runner and then fixed themselves strainedly on the line he had drawn across the cinders. Nearer and nearer came the scrunch of the flying sneakers, there was a sudden blur of gray in Fudge’s vision and he snapped the watch. Perry turned and trotted anxiously back.

“Well?” he asked.

“Better,” replied Fudge. “Of course, the track’s awfully slow ”

“How much? Let’s see?”

Fudge yielded the watch and Perry examined it. “Eleven and two-fifths!” he shouted protestingly.

THE PURPLE PENNANT “Say, this thing’s crazy! I know mighty well I didn’t run nearly so fast as I did the first time !”

“I didn’t snap it soon enough the other time,” explained Fudge. “Honest, Perry, eleven and two-fifths isn’t half bad. Why, look at the slow track and your long trousers ”

“Yes, and they weigh a ton, they’re so wet,” grumbled Perry. “And so do these shoes. I’m going to try it some time when the track’s dry and I’ve got regular running things on. I suppose eleven and two-fifths isn’t terribly bad, considering!”

“Bad! It’s mighty good,” said Fudge warmly. “Why, look here, Perry, if you can do it in that time to-day you can do it nearly a second faster on a dry track and — and all! You see if you can’t. I’ll bet you you’ll be a regular sprinter by the time we meet Springdale!”

“Honest, Fudge?”

“Honest to goodness! To-morrow you put your name down for the Track Team and get yourself some running things. I’ll go along with you if you like. I know just what you ought to have.”

“I don’t suppose I’ll really have any show for the team,” said Perry modestly. “But it’ll be pretty good fun. Say, Fudge, I didn’t know I could run as fast as I did that first time. It seemed to me I was going like the very dickens! It — it's mighty interesting, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” replied Fudge, as Perry donned his things. “You don’t want to try the two-twenty or the hurdles, do you ?”

“I should say not! I’m tuckered out. I’m going to try the two-twenty some day, though. I don’t think I’d care about hurdling.”

“You can’t tell,” murmured Fudge thoughtfully.

Later, when they had once more surmounted the fence and were heading toward B Street, Fudge, who had said little for many minutes, observed: “I wonder, Perry, if a fellow wouldn’t have more fun with the Track Team than with the Nine. I’ve a good mind to go in for it.”

“Why don’t you?” asked Perry, encouragingly eager. “What would you try? Running or — or what?” His gaze unconsciously strayed over his friend’s rotund figure.

“N-no,” replied Fudge hesitantly. “I don’t think so. I might go in for the mile, maybe. I don’t know yet. I’m just thinking of it. I’d have to study a bit. Perhaps the weights would be my line. Ever put the shot?” Perry shook his head. “Neither have I, but I’ll bet I could. All it takes is practice. Say, wouldn’t it be funny if you and I both made the team?”

“It would be dandy/' declared Perry, suppose there’d be any chance of it?” “Why not?” asked Fudge cheerfully.

“Do you

Chapter III

T HE two boys parted at Main and B Streets, Fudge to loiter thoughtfully southward under the budding maples and Perry to continue briskly on along the wider thoroughfare to where, almost at the corner of G Street, a small yellow house stood in a diminutive yard behind a decaying picket fence. Over the gate, which had stood open ever since Perry had grown too old to enjoy swinging on it, was a square lantern supported on an iron arch. At night a dim light burned in it, calling the passer's attention to the lettering on the front:

No. 7 — Dr. Hull — Office.

Beside the front door a second sign proclaimed the house to be the abode of Matthew P. Hull, M. D.

Nearby was an old-fashioned bell-pull and, just below it, a more modern button. Above the latter were the words “Night Bell.” The house looked

THE PURPLE PENNANT homelike and scrupulously clean, but evidences of disrepair were abundant. The bases of the four round pillars supporting the roof of the porch which ran across the front were rotting, the steps creaked ominously under Perry's feet and the faded yellow paint was blistered and cracked.

Dr. Hull only rented the house, and the owner, since the retail business district had almost surrounded it and he expected to soon sell, was extremely chary of repairs. Perry’s father had lived there so long that he hated the thought of moving. He had grown very fond of the place, a fondness Shared to a lesser extent by Mrs. Hull and scarcely at all by Perry. But Dr. Hull’s motives in remaining there were not wholly sentimental. He had slowly and arduously accumulated a fair practice and, now that the town was over-supplied with physicians, he feared that a change of location would lose him his clients. Dr. Hull was not an old man, but he was forty-odd and rather of the old-style, and shook his head over the pushing methods of the newcomers. Perry assured him that it would be a good thing if he did lose some of his present practice, since half of it brought him little or no money, and that in a better location he could secure a better class of patients. But Perry wasn’t very certain of this, while his mother, who sighed secretly for a home where the plaster didn’t crumble nor the doors creak, had even less faith in the Doctor’s ability to begin over again.

Perry glanced through the open door of the tiny waiting room on the left as he hung up his cap and, finding it empty and the further door ajar, knew that his father was out. He went on up the stairs, which complained at almost every footfall, and stole noiselessly down the narrow hall to his own room. His mother’s door was closed and this was the hour when, on Sundays, she enjoyed what she termed “forty winks.” Perry’s room was small and lighted by three narrow windows set close together. While they admitted light they afforded but little view, for beyond the shallow back-yard loomed the side wall of a five-storied brick building which fronted on G Street. Directly on a level with Perry’s windows was Curry’s Glove factory, occupying the second floor of the building. Below was a bakery. Above were offices; a dentist’s, a lawyer’s, and several that were empty or changed tenants so frequently that Perry couldn’t keep track of them. In winter the light that came through the three windows was faint and brief, but at other seasons the sunlight managed somehow to find its way there. This afternoon a golden ray still lingered on the table, falling athwart the strapped pile of 25