STRANDED
Before the meal was over Mr. Walton swept aside the whole subject and in
pleasant contrast to those sorry matters observed cheerily, “I hope
you’re going to stick with the Scouts, Herve. They represent about the
best we’ve got in boys in this town. That Burroughs chap was in the
store to-day wanting a jack-knife and he was asking when you were coming
back. You didn’t get in touch with the troop yet, hey?”
“They spend too much time making plans,” Hervey said.
“Well, they have a lot of fun when they carry their plans out, don’t
they?”
“Sure, playing games.”
“What’s the matter with games?”
“Jiminies, they never want to do what I do.”
“Then why don’t you do what they do? What a half a million boys want to
do is better than what one boy wants to do, isn’t it? It seems to me
they do some pretty big things. I notice they get their names in the
papers.”
This remark about getting one’s name in the papers was not altogether
pleasant to Hervey. He was somewhat in fear of that very thing. “Sure,
that’s all they do,” he said. “Didn’t I beat them all running to East
Farrelton? And I didn’t get anything out of it. Nix on that outfit.”
“I think that was a shame,” said Mrs. Walton.
“Sure, it was no fair,” said Hervey.
“Your scoutmaster told me you cut across Allen’s farm,” Mr. Walton
observed, smiling. “And that’s private land you know, Herve.”
“He’s a sap,” said Hervey. “I got there the quickest way and beat them
all, and then I get a comeback. You’re supposed to be resourceful and
then when you’re resourceful and crawl under barbed-wire fences and all
that and beat them by twenty-one minutes, they give you a call-down
instead of a reward. Old man Allen never made any kick.”
“Probably he didn’t know about it,” said Mr. Walton.
“Well then, it didn’t hurt him,” said Hervey.
Mr. Walton whistled softly and looked ruefully into space.
“I haven’t much sympathy for men who use barbed-wire,” said Mrs. Walton
in her gentle way. “Whenever I think of barbed-wire it reminds me of the
war.”
“Sure, and they’re always shouting about cruelty to animals and all that
bunk,” said Hervey. “A lot of cows get cut on barbed-wire fences. I know
a cow that cut his throat that way. Nix on the Scouts.”
“Is there anything in the Scouts’ book favoring barbed-wire fences?” Mr.
Walton asked. “Anyway, we’re not talking about barbed-wire, we’re
talking about scouting.”
“I know that cow personally,” Hervey said.
“Well, I think it’s _inhuman_,” said his mother.
Poor Mr. Walton glanced from one to the other with an amused expression.
“Maybe I won’t resign,” said Hervey, “but I’m not going to bother with
them a whole lot. I get plenty of fun, all right. Whatever they do I can
beat them at it.”
“Well, then, I should think you’d stay with them and get the glory,”
said Mr. Walton, rising. As he left the table he clapped Hervey on the
shoulder by way of showing that the discussion had been altogether
friendly. “You and Mum are a great pair,” he laughed. “The next time the
Boy Scouts find a lost child, I’ll let you know about it, Herve.”
“Believe me, they can’t even find _me_ half the time.”
“And that’s true enough, I guess,” said Mr. Walton.
Hervey spent the next day on one of his lone, aimless hikes. He made a
picturesque figure as he went down the main street of Farrelton, wearing
that outlandish cap which he always wore, the brim cut entirely away,
the felt crown full of holes and advertisement buttons. His progress had
a wanton air about it; it was evident that he had no destination. He
poked the stick which he always carried into an over-ripe apple that he
happened to see along the road, and dextrously discharged it against a
house. It struck a window which made it necessary for him to accelerate
his pace to a point of safety in a crossroad.
After a while he got a lift as far as Tanner’s Corners and proved
entertaining to his motorist host. It was characteristic of him to
proceed without the faintest thought of how he could get home; he could
never see more than a few yards ahead of him. And he never considered
the increasing distance behind him. In the present instance this
distance stretched out to about fifteen miles. For when he learned that
the motorist was going to Tanner’s Corners, of course he decided that he
was going there too.
It proved a good destination, for there he witnessed a prolonged and
exciting ball game on the village green. This did not end till dusk and
while it was on our wandering hero gave not so much as one thought to
home nor how he was to get there. The gathering darkness found him
stranded; he had no money to pay his fare on the eight-seven northbound
train nor to buy himself so much as a morsel of food.
Strangely, he had a feeling that his predicament was somehow part and
parcel with his adventure of the previous night. He had not entirely
forgotten that, nor even attained to a state of mental composure
regarding it. He had been connected with something contemptible and
unspeakable (those were his mother’s own words) and he did not like the
words at all. He felt a little resentful toward her that she had used
them. For what had _he_ done that was so very bad? Well, he had done
this; he had placed himself in a position where he could not tell what
he knew about that young ruffian who had evidently been a stranger in
Farrelton. He could not tell because of his own “malicious mischief.” He
was not quite sure about malicious mischief, but his father’s words
about it had not been reassuring. It was evidently a pretty serious
matter and now, hungry and somewhat perplexed in this distant village,
he had the feeling that somehow he was a fugitive.
But, of course, that was absurd; he had simply gone off for the day. And
now he was in a predicament as he had been at Temple Camp dozens of
times before. So far as his little escapade of the fire-alarm was
concerned, he had only to keep silent. The only real worry that he had
was about getting home. There was not the slightest reason why he should
feel contemptible nor why he should feel like a confederate, much less a
fugitive. But how about that ten miles that had seemed so short and
pleasant in an auto? That was Hervey all over....
He strolled over to the railroad station and gazed wistfully at the
train which was ready to start at eight-seven. The cars were lighted and
looked cheery inside. A few passengers were already seated; they looked
very comfortable as they sat reading or just waiting. Hervey strolled
through the train to see if any Farrelton people were on it.
If so, he would have considered asking for a loan of his train fare. But
he encountered no familiar faces. Then it occurred to him that this was
just as well since he would not want his trip to Tanner’s Corners
mentioned in Farrelton. He did not know just why he felt that way. It
had something to do with that feeling about being a fugitive--about
getting away from something or somebody.
Another thought occurred to him; he might hook a ride to Farrelton. He
had never done such a thing on a railroad, but a couple of tramps who
had made a squalid camp in the woods near Temple Camp had discussed in
his presence the technique of riding under rolling stock. He could crawl
in on the wheel trucks and be quite concealed. He remembered how one of
those atrocious hoboes had mentioned the deafening clank and rattle
which assaults the rider’s ears in such position. “De best dope is ter
get sideways an’ hook yer foot onter de chain,” one of the hoboes had
said. Hervey was not above trying that.
But his opportunity was spoiled by a trainman who presently took his
stand on the platform calling, “_Farrelton, North Farrelton, Woodsedge,
Meadow Junction, change for Boston_.” He had an eagle eye, and besides,
the passengers were numerous on the platform now. Hervey realized that
crawling in under a car was not so easy. Small as he was, he had not the
technique of a hobo.
So he decided to walk the tracks to Farrelton. That would be the
shortest route, shorter by two or three miles than the road. He would
have to negotiate a trestle, but he did not mind that. The trestle was
some distance away and he never worried about things that were at a
distance. What troubled him most of all was that he was hungry. He did
not admit that he was worried about anything else.
What was there to worry about?