JERRY ISSUES INVITATIONS
Jerry arose the next morning very happy in the knowledge that he was
the possessor of his own home. He had long since ceased to entertain
the thought of any one else having the least claim to it. It was his,
he considered, by the right of discovery, preëmption, possession and
by every other right. Or perhaps it would be nearer the truth to say
that he would have so considered had he given any thought to the
matter. Which he didn’t. In the bathtub that morning he found his
happiness dimmed by the reflection that he had no one with whom to
share his pleasure. There was young Pringle, a decent fourth class
lad whom he rather liked, but something told him that Archie Pringle
would be unable to understand and sympathize with his enthusiasm for a
weather-beaten, sway-backed, shack two miles from civilization. Jerry
wished that Tom was there. Tom would kick like a steer at walking the
distance, but, once there, he would like that cabin nearly as much as
Jerry did. Well, Tom would be back the next day, which was Thursday,
and surely no later than Sunday Jerry could hale him off and exhibit
his new treasure to him. Comforted by that thought, Jerry realized the
fact that he was still in the bathtub.
Mr. Hiltower, to whom Jerry applied for another day’s leave after
breakfast, showed mild surprise and some hesitation. “Aren’t you
overdoing it, Benson?” he asked. “You were away all day yesterday, were
you not?”
“Yes, sir.” Jerry would have liked to explain to the instructor, but
he somehow feared that the latter wouldn’t understand much better than
young Pringle.
“Hm,” mused Mr. Hiltower. “Going to the city?”
“No, sir, to the――the country.”
Mr. Hiltower seemed to find that slightly amusing. “Well, you oughtn’t
to have to go very far to do that,” he chuckled. “What do you do in the
country, Benson? Commune with Nature and all that sort of thing?”
“I just walk, sir, and――and sometimes I take a book with me and read.”
Then, reflecting that possibly the reply was a trifle misleading, he
added: “To-day I’m going to an old cabin back in the woods, sir. I
found it yesterday.”
“An old cabin? Quite interesting! Well, well, all right, Benson.
Pursue your adventures, my boy. But see that you’re back by five.”
Jerry had his troubles that morning. By the time he had collected as
many of the articles on the vanished list as he could remember and
piled them into an empty soap box in the stable his movements had
been observed by his companions and he had become an object of much
interest. While he was endeavoring to induce a borrowed saw to live in
peace at the bottom of the box with the hatchet and the cups and many
other articles, the doorway was darkened and three inquisitive youths
demanded enlightenment.
“What are you doing, Benson?” asked one.
“Putting some things in a box,” answered Jerry truthfully.
“What for? What are you going to do with them?”
“I’m going into the woods for the day. Going to camp.”
“Honest? Say, let me go along, will you?”
“Me, too, Benson!”
Jerry shook his head, “This is a one-man camp,” he answered coldly.
“Anyway, I’m tramping too far for you fellers.”
“Oh, come on! Take me with you! I don’t mind walking, and I’ll tote
part of the stuff. What you got to eat?”
“Only enough for me, sonny.” Jerry’s load was ready and he removed it
from under the eager eyes of the boys and put it on his shoulder. They
followed him as far as the road, reënforced by several others from the
tennis courts, plaintively begging to be allowed to accompany him.
Jerry, however, was obdurate, even if smilingly so, and plaints became
complaints and he took his departure pursued by gibes and insults.
One small youth capped all the expressions of hostility by shouting
shrilly: “_Hope you sit on a snake!_”
Another busy and happy day followed for Jerry. He performed a delicate
operation with the saw that left the table without a limp, he made a
short, low bench to sit on, he cleaned the stove and greased it, he
tidied up outside and he transformed the soap box he had brought with
him into a wood box by filling it with dry branches and twigs. He had
brought no food to cook, but he had four sandwiches and another cake
of chocolate and he made himself some coffee as before. This time he
drank in a civilized fashion from a cracked cup that had no saucer――tin
cups were not to be had short of purchase――but he wasn’t sure that the
coffee tasted any better. The two eggs left from yesterday he still
treasured. The birds had apparently discovered that the queer little
house was inhabited, for they were far more numerous than yesterday
and Jerry divided his fourth sandwich with them, sprinkling the crumbs
before the door. He had another visitor, too, in the small shape of a
red squirrel who came almost to the door and there sat himself up on
his hind legs and scolded roundly. Having neither nuts nor corn, Jerry
offered him a piece of bread, but Mr. Squirrel would have none of it.
“Tell you what I’ll do,” said Jerry placatingly. “Next time I come I’ll
bring you a potato. Like that, would you?”
The squirrel appeared to consider and then began to scold again as
loudly as before.
“Well, then, I’ll see can I find some nuts for you,” said Jerry. “But
you ain’t going to get anything by calling me names, neighbor!”
After his dinner he built a fire in the outdoor fireplace, just to see
how it would burn, and was curiously observed by a bluejay from the
top of a neighboring tree. The result satisfied Jerry, but the jay
laughed derisively. To-day a volume of history had accompanied the boy,
and about two o’clock he laid himself down on the slope of the little
knoll and read, breaking off at intervals to gaze proudly at the cabin
and to think of new ways to make it more attractive and homy. When it
came time to go back to school he felt rather forlorn. Leaving the hut
was almost like leaving home. As he had not yet brought a padlock, he
bolted the door from inside, as before, and emerged through a window.
Then, the borrowed tools in hand, he set off with many a backward
glance.
It was on that homeward trip that his Great Idea came to Jerry. It
appeared first as a very small idea, a mere fancy, and it had almost
disappeared into nothingness when Jerry grabbed it back, looked it over
and began to build on to it. And as it grew Jerry’s eyes got rounder
and rounder, and more than once he stopped short in the road and
stared ahead as one who sees visions. At last, the idea having assumed
a marvelous shape and a truly stupendous size, he ended the homeward
journey at something just short of a trot, so eager was he to reach a
piece of paper and a pencil.
Back in Number 7, in the hour that remained before supper time, he did
much figuring, covering more than one sheet of paper with numerals and
words and meaningless scrawls. Some of the things he figured on may
sound strange and unrelated, as, for instance, the number of weeks
remaining before school closed for the summer――which was eight――and the
price of a smoked ham weighing twelve pounds at, say, forty-two cents
a pound! He did much more figuring, and in the middle of it, the supper
gong rang and he had to leave his engrossing task with a sigh of regret.
His table companions were full of questions regarding his camping trip,
but Jerry was unusually absent-minded and uncommunicative this evening.
After supper he hurried back to the room and a half hour later he
hurried down again and across to Ellicot House where he, not without
trepidation, sought and obtained audience of the Principal. That
conference lasted nearly twenty minutes and Jerry emerged from it with
a smile and a warm and grateful feeling for Doctor Heidler. It was late
when he crawled between the sheets that night and much later when sleep
came to him. Even then his busy brain didn’t quite stop its work, for
when he awoke in the morning he was conscious of having dreamed many
weird and wonderful things, none of which he could recall, however.
At two o’clock the first of the returning students began to arrive and
the silence and emptiness of the past ten days was over. Tom didn’t get
back until a half hour before supper, and then he had so much to tell
that Jerry, himself bursting with news, had to keep his mouth tightly
closed lest he interrupt the other’s flow. Tom had had a corking time
and Jerry had certainly missed it by not going north with him. It was
too bad, and Dad had been mighty sorry when he learned that Jerry
hadn’t come. And Jerry must have had a pretty dull old time of it down
here all alone!
And Jerry, who had enjoyed himself as he hadn’t done for a long, long
time, had to keep still under such provocation as was contained in that
last sympathetic statement!
But his time came at last. Supper over, he and Tom went back to the
room, Tom to unpack his small trunk and Jerry to sprawl beside him and
tell his adventures. Tom opened his eyes very wide and observed his
chum with vast respect when Jerry told of that afternoon tea and of
the subsequent dinner at the Laurence’s. And a minute later he stood
engrossed, a dinner jacket in one hand and a pair of patent leather
pumps in the other, while Jerry dramatically recounted his discovery of
the deserted cabin. Perhaps he showed a slight disappointment when the
narrative developed neither hidden treasure nor bleaching skeletons,
but on the whole he was satisfactorily enthralled and enthusiastic.
“And what are you going to do with it, Jerry?” he asked eagerly at the
end.
“First thing I’m going to do,” answered Jerry, “is give a party
Saturday evening.”
“A party? In the cabin? Great! Am I invited?”
“Yes, you and Joke and――and another feller. Reckon there ought to be
four of us.”
“How would Tub do? He’s pretty good fun.”
“I――I ain’t――haven’t decided yet,” replied Jerry evasively. “I’ll find
some one, though. We’ll go out about five o’clock, say, and that’ll
give us an hour to cook supper.”
“Who’s going to cook it?” inquired Tom doubtfully.
“I am. I can cook right smart, Tom. Anyway, we wouldn’t have anything
very fancy. Maybe just ham and eggs and coffee and the like. But it’ll
taste mighty good after the walk, and eating it in the woods and all.”
“Sure! But――but how far did you say this cabin is?”
“Just a little piece.” Jerry’s eyes twinkled. “’Bout two miles.”
“Gosh! Don’t you know there’s a game Saturday, you long-legged,
lopsided mountaineer? Think we’re going to feel like tramping two miles
after beating St. John’s?”
“Maybe we won’t beat ’em,” replied Jerry calmly. “Anyway, we can take
it easy. You’ll like it after you get there, Tom.”
“Yes, I guess so. Well, I’ll drag myself out there somehow, Jerry.
Joke’s coming up pretty soon and you can ask him. Maybe he can suggest
a fourth.”
“We-ell, I sort of got a feller in mind, you see. Don’t know yet will
he want to go. Reckon he will, though.” Jerry blinked innocently.
“There’s a feller here name of Pringle I got to know right well while
you were gone. He’s sort of a kid, but he’s nice.”
“Archie Pringle? I know him. Third class fellow.” Tom looked a wee bit
dubious. “Sort of――sort of kiddy, isn’t he, Jerry?”
“Maybe so. I sort of like him, though.”
“Well, it’s your party,” returned Tom cheerfully. “You ask whom you
like, Jerry boy. Here’s Joke, I guess.”
It was, and Joe, after hearing the story, accepted the invitation with
alacrity. “Swell!” he said. “Gee, fellows, I’m crazy about outdoor
eats! It’ll be more fun than a barrel of monkeys, won’t it? We’ll make
a fire outdoors and sit around it and listen to the――the lapping of the
waves――――”
“Whoa!” said Tom. “Where do you get that stuff? There aren’t any waves
in the woods, you chump!”
“That’s so!” But Joe was untroubled. “Well, then, we’ll sit and listen
to the whippoorwills and feel sort of lonely and sad and everything.
Fine, Jerry, fine!”
“Your idea of a perfect time is mighty peculiar, I’ll say,” commented
Tom. “Feeling sad isn’t among the things I dote on, son. That ham and
eggs makes a bigger hit with me than listening to whippoorwills! Every
one to his taste, though. You go the limit on loneliness and the rest
of us will attend to the chow.”
“Oh, I’m never too lonely to eat,” said Joe cheerfully. “In fact, I’m
always hungriest when I’m sad. Who else is going?”
“Just us three,” replied Tom, “and one other fellow. Jerry’s thinking
of asking young Pringle.”
“Sure! He’s a nice kid,” said Joe. “We’ll let him wash the dishes. Good
idea, that, Jerry!”
“I didn’t say I was going to ask Pringle,” observed Jerry. “Maybe it’ll
be some one else. I ain’t decided yet.”
“Well, all I ask is, don’t get a fellow with a big appetite,” begged
Joe. “I never had a meal in the woods yet when there was enough to eat.
Seems as if I just can’t get enough!”
“There’ll be aplenty this time,” Jerry assured him.
The next day, which was Friday, Tom saw practically nothing of
his roommate until after supper. He caught glimpses of him during
practice, but glimpses only, for Jerry worked with the scrubs that
afternoon and there was no game. And afterwards he disappeared most
mysteriously. Jerry, in fact, spent a busy day. In the morning
there was a providential interim of an hour and a half between two
recitations, something that occurred on no other morning of the week,
and Jerry might have been seen footing it briskly out of the school
grounds and down the road toward the station. Possibly he was seen, but
certainly not by Tom. At the station, instead of raising the semaphore
to stop the next westbound train, Jerry debouched from road to track
and set off at a swinging stride. A ten-minute walk brought him to
his destination, a small village which boasted, besides a half dozen
houses, a real, sure-enough store where you could buy almost anything
from a paper of pins to a disk harrow or a cabinet talking machine.
Jerry was extremely busy in that store for more than a half hour, and
when he finally emerged he was weighed down by a gunnysack whose sides
protruded most significantly.
Jerry didn’t foot it back to North Bank, but caught the Annapolis
train a minute or two later. On the way he looked thoughtfully into
a leather bag-shaped purse, and what he saw appeared to bring him
little pleasure. But when he had stowed the purse carefully away in
his pocket again some thought brought a satisfied, even happy look to
his countenance. From the North Bank station he had to rely on his
feet again and he slung the sack over his back and set out, looking
not unlike a somewhat lanky and loose-jointed Santa Claus. Back at
school, he went straight to the stable with his load. Cicero was there
grooming Napoleon, the mule with the thickest tail――even Cicero could
only tell them apart by their tails――and with him Jerry carried on a
conversation of such length that he had just barely time to hurry up to
Number 7 Baldwin House and retrieve his books for a half past eleven
recitation. After dinner he again disappeared, though this time he
went no further than the stable, and after baseball practice he was
missing once more. Search at the stable, or anywhere else about the
school, would, however, have failed to find him then, for he was seated
on the front seat of the hack, beside Cicero, and the black carriage
mules were stepping out smartly in the direction of the blazed tree
that stood a mile and a half along the river road. In the back of the
hack were two boxes, each well-filled with miscellaneous articles,
and these, while Cicero waited in the road, Jerry carried along the
trail to the cabin. He was back at school in time for supper, and,
afterwards, was annoyingly secretive and mysterious when questioned as
to his whereabouts and his doings by Tom. Perhaps Tom was a bit more
annoyed than he would usually have been, for he had managed to catch a
throw from second on the tip of his third finger that afternoon, which
is both an unwise and a painful thing to do.