THE MYSTERY DEEPENS
Afternoon school passed as uneventfully as the morning session and no
summons from Doctor Webster reached the culprits. Each of them drew a
deep sigh of relief when he was safely outside the front door of School
Building; and he didn’t linger long thereabouts, but hurried off to the
gymnasium to prepare for football practice.
“What did I tell you?” Spud demanded triumphantly as they went. “Horace
hasn’t heard a word of it.”
“I guess you’re right,” said Dutch. “Only what I’d like to know is who
was that in the orchard last night?”
“I wonder if we really did see anything, after all,” mused The Fungus.
“I didn’t,” replied Dutch.
But there was a chorus of protest from the rest.
“You bet we saw something!” cried Hoop. “I saw it all right, anyway!”
“And so did I,” said Cal and Sandy in unison.
“Well, whoever it was,” declared Ned, “it couldn’t have been one of the
Old Maids, for they’d certainly have scorched the ground getting to
Horace with their troubles. I’m beginning to think that Clara is right
and that it really was a ghost.”
“There isn’t any such thing,” jeered Spud as they entered the
gymnasium. “And, anyhow, a ghost wouldn’t have swiped Cal’s
pillow-case!”
“Well, whatever it was or whoever it was,” said Sandy earnestly, “I’m
glad it didn’t give us away.”
Practice that afternoon was strenuous and Cal, having accepted
philosophically the fact that there was no escape for him, set to work
and made up his mind to master the intricacies of the game. Not that
it appeared much like a game to him, however. He spent a quarter of an
hour handling the ball with others of the “awkward squad”; passing it,
catching it, falling on it――when it was there!――and learning not a few
of its idiosyncrasies. He discovered, for instance, that, contrary
to his first impression, it was sometimes possible to tell which way
the pigskin would bounce when it struck the ground. At first if a ball
was dropped and he reached in one direction for it it was nominally
certain to bound off at an opposite tangent. But after awhile he began
to develop a certain sense of prophecy, as it were, and more often than
not the ball came toward him rather than away from him. They put him
with six other fellows in a line and he was informed that he was to
play left tackle. For awhile that meant being shoved and knocked around
in order that an apparently crazy boy with the pigskin clasped firmly
to his bosom might spring from behind him somewhere and dash forward,
only to deposit the ball on the turf again and repeat the performance.
Cal was still appearing in his every-day clothes, since the orchard
episode had quite put the thought of purchasing football togs out of
his mind. But Ned recalled it to him on the way back to West House
after practice and showers.
“We’ll have to make that trip to the village tomorrow, Cal,” he
announced. “We’ll get Marm to let us have dinner early. Just about one
more day and those trousers of yours won’t be fit to wear to anything
except a dog-fight.”
Cal examined them ruefully. They _did_ show signs of the fray, and that
was a fact. The knees bulged horribly and there was a nice collection
of yellowish mud around the bottoms of them. He sighed.
“All right,” he answered. “I cal’late you’re right, Ned. Maybe, though,
I could just get trousers now and let the other things go until I get
some money from home. Then I won’t have to borrow from you, Ned.”
“Pshaw, what’s the difference? You might as well get the whole outfit
now. Four dollars will about do the trick and I can loan you two just
as well as not.”
“That’s good of you,” said Cal. “I just thought――you see I ain’t ever
borrowed any money before and I don’t believe my mother would like it.”
“Oh, it’s just until you get your own money,” replied Ned carelessly.
“There’s no harm in that. Borrowing’s all right when you can pay back.
All the fellows borrow. Spud owes fifty cents right now. I must remind
him of it when he gets his next letter. Spud’s a little bit forgetful,
you see. I’ll give you the money when we get to the Den.”
But Dutch Zoller challenged him to a set of tennis as soon as they got
around the corner of the house and Ned forgot the money for the time
being.
“Tell you what I’ll do, Dutch,” said Ned. “I’ll play you and Cal.”
Dutch viewed Cal dubiously.
“But he doesn’t play, does he?”
“No, but neither do you, Dutch; not much, that is,” replied Ned meanly.
“You see, I’ll beat you in either case.”
“You could give me thirty on a game,” Dutch suggested. “That would make
it more interesting for you.”
“Thirty! Well, I like your nerve! Look here, if you don’t want to play
that way I’ll take Cal with me and you play against the two of us.”
“I’d rather not,” Cal protested. “I don’t know anything about it, Ned.”
“Time you did, then. And you’ll never find a softer proposition to
learn on than Dutch. Come on! Get somebody’s racket from the closet
under the stairs. It doesn’t make any difference whose racket you take;
they’ll all kick about it. But you’d better take the best you can
find!”
In the end Cal was persuaded. He secretly wanted to learn the game and
not always have to sit on the end of the porch and look on. Of course
his was a funny performance and when the rest of West House arrived
they had a fine time watching his efforts and cheering him on to
victory. At first Cal was all for giving up, but Ned told him to “buck
up and not be an idiot.” “They’re only fooling,” he said. “You’ve got
to learn to take a joke, Cal, or you’ll have a pretty miserable time
here, old man.” So Cal thought better of it, gripped his racket until
his knuckles were white and blisters began to appear inside his hands
and tried his best to profit by Ned’s shouted instructions.
“Let her go, Cal! Out here, Dutch.... Forty-thirty.... Hit it, Cal! Oh,
say, don’t dodge out of the way, but bat the stuffing out of it! Hit
_at_ it, anyway, Cal! All right; you’ll get on to it.... Deuce! Play!”
Even with such a severe handicap as Cal’s partnership Ned was always
able to keep the game in hand, for he didn’t hesitate to invade Cal’s
side of the court and take every ball that he could possibly reach. And
on Ned’s service Dutch was nearly helpless. Toward the end of the set
Cal began to see the humor of his wild slashes and awkward prancing
and joined his laughter with that of the gallery. Once when he aimed a
reckless blow at a low lob and accidentally hit it so that it sped back
across the net and hit the ground just where Dutch couldn’t get it the
applause from the onlookers was so tumultuous and hearty that Cal was
quite proud and made up his mind then and there that he would learn
tennis if he had to die for it.
“Our set,” announced Ned. “Six――four. Want to try again, Dutch?”
“If you’ll give me fifteen,” said Dutch.
But Cal declined to play any more. He was very tired and quite out of
breath, and, besides, he knew that if he withdrew the others would make
up a set of doubles. So he took his place on the porch and watched Ned
and Hoop try conclusions with Sandy and Dutch and got not a few points
in that way. Before the snow came Cal had learned the game. He never
made a remarkable player, but he was able to beat both Dutch and The
Fungus, and Ned had only to give him a handicap of fifteen to ensure a
hard-fought match.
Ned and Hoop secured the first set, six――four, and were one game to the
good on the second when supper time arrived.
“We’ll finish after grub,” said Sandy, “if it’s light enough. We’ve got
them on the run, Dutch.”
“Hear the blatant boaster, Hoop,” said Ned. “Bet you, Sandy, you don’t
get one more game in the set. Why, we’ve just been trifling with you so
far, haven’t we, Hoop?”
“Trifling is the word,” responded Hoop gravely. “We have been merely
amusing ourselves, Sandy.”
Sandy laughed with much sarcasm and Dutch emitted a word that sounded
like “Yah!” and whatever it was expressed ridicule and defiance. How
the second set came out Cal never learned, for at the supper table Mrs.
Linn interposed.
“Miss Matilda said she had two baskets of apples for me if I’d send
for them,” she announced. “And I was wondering whether two of you boys
would go over for them after supper. I guess they aren’t very heavy.”
Apples and the Misses Curtis being just then dangerous topics, there
was a prolonged hush about the table. The boys wondered if it would be
safe to present their countenances at the Curtis front door. If the
mysterious person in white had failed to recognize them last night
might she not do so if she saw them again? They cast doubtful and
inquiring glances at each other.
“Of course,” began Marm, “if you’d rather not――”
“Not at all,” protested Sandy gallantly. “We were just waiting modestly
for you to say who you’d rather have, Marm. I’d love to go, only I’ve
got a set of tennis to finish with Ned and Hoop and Dutch. But there’s
Spud and The Fungus and Cal.”
“I’ll go, Marm,” said Spud.
“So will I,” said Cal.
“Bet you there won’t be many apples left by the time they get back,”
said Hoop.
“Oh, I guess there’ll be plenty,” said Mrs. Linn. “So you can all have
some when they come. I do think it’s kind of them to let me have so
many.”
“Why shouldn’t they?” asked Spud. “Gee, they’ve got barrels and barrels
of them, haven’t they?”
“Yes, but they sell most of them, I think,” replied Marm.
“Sell them! Why, I thought they had money to throw away.”
“They’re very rich, of course,” Mrs. Linn replied, “but I suppose they
think they might as well turn the apples into money as have them rot on
the ground. They’re beautiful apples, too.”
“They are indeed,” muttered The Fungus dreamily. “_Ouch!_”
“Shut up, you ninny!” commanded Sandy fiercely. The Fungus reached down
and surreptitiously rubbed his shin. Mrs. Linn looked down the table
wonderingly until Claire caused a diversion by asking if they might
have some of the apples baked.
“Don’t you worry,” said Spud gloomily. “We’ll have ’em baked, all
right; and stewed, and made into apple pies and apple pudding and all
kinds of things. I hate apples.”
“Why!” exclaimed Marm. “I thought you loved them.”
Spud shook his head soberly. “No, ma’am, not since they caused all that
trouble in the Garden of Eden. I used to be quite fond of them before
that, though.”
“Spud, you’re an idiot,” laughed Ned. “I, for one, vote for baked
apples, and lots of them.”
“Seconded,” cried Sandy. “Likewise apple pie.”
“Let’s have the pie without the bakes,” suggested Dutch. “I can always
eat pie.”
“You can always eat anything,” replied Sandy severely. “And you’re too
fat already. No pie for you, Dutch.”
When supper was over Cal and Spud started for the apples. As they went
out the gate Ned called after them softly.
“Say, fellows, change caps or something so they won’t recognize you!”
“I wonder if they will,” said Spud uneasily as they went down the
street toward the Curtis gate. “I sort of wish they’d keep their old
apples to themselves, Cal.”
“I don’t believe it was either of the Miss Curtises that we saw last
night,” answered Cal. “They wouldn’t be roaming around in the orchard
at that time of night.”
“N-no, but it must have been someone! And who the dickens was it? Here
we are. Let’s sort of keep our faces hidden as much as we can, Cal.”
That wasn’t hard to do, for it was already getting toward dusk, and
when they stood on the front porch and rang the door-bell they had the
light behind them. Footsteps sounded inside and Spud pulled his cap
down. “Look innocent, Cal,” he whispered, “look innocent!”
Cal assumed what he fondly believed to be an expression of lamb-like
innocence but which came nearer to being a look of utter idiocy, and
then the door was opened and the unexpected apparition of a girl of
about their own age confronted them. The messengers, who had expected
to see one of the Old Maids, were so surprised that for a moment
neither of them did anything but stare. Finally, though, it was Spud
who blurted:
“Good evening. We――we came for the apples.”
The young lady in the doorway seemed to find this announcement
distinctly amusing. She smiled and then she laughed; and then,
doubtless observing the bewildered expressions on the faces before her,
she stopped laughing very suddenly and said:
“I didn’t mean to laugh, really.”
Whereupon Spud murmured “Much obliged” rather vaguely, and Cal,
to whom girls other than his sister Nan were novel and perplexing
creatures, showed a decided disposition to retreat and leave
negotiations in the hands of his companion.
“Won’t you come in?” asked the girl demurely. “I’ll tell Aunt Matilda
that you’re here.”
“I guess we’ll wait outside,” answered Spud. “We just came for the
apples.”
“I know.” The extraordinary young lady again showed evidences of
amusement as she turned away, and Spud was almost certain that he heard
her giggling as she retreated down the hall. He turned to Cal with a
puzzled look.
“Say, what’s the matter with that kid?” he asked. “Do we look funny,
or――or what? And who is she, anyway? I never saw any girls around here
before.”
But Cal didn’t know and wasn’t interested. And then the girl came back
again.
“Aunt says will you please go around to the woodshed. You’ll find her
there.”
Spud thanked her and they made their way along the length of the old
house to where a tall, thin lady with a very severe countenance was
pushing open the woodshed doors.
[Illustration: “Good evening. We――we came for the apples”]
“We came for the apples for Mrs. Linn,” said Spud.
“Here they are,” said Miss Matilda, pointing to two piled-up baskets
standing just inside the door. “You’d better set them both outside
so’s I can lock up again. And tell Mrs. Linn I’d like the baskets back
tomorrow.”
Spud and Cal moved the baskets outside. The shed was dark, but light
enough to show that one end of it was almost filled with barrels of
apples ready for heading-up. Even if they had not seen them the odor
would have told the story.
“If you want some to eat,” said Miss Matilda, “there’s a bin in that
corner over there.”
“No’m, thank you,” said Spud. “We don’t care for apples.”
Miss Matilda sniffed.
“Guess you’re the first West House boys I ever heard tell of that
didn’t, then,” she said. “Likely, though, you don’t care for them
unless you can steal them.”
“They――they don’t agree with me,” said Spud uneasily. “Take hold, Cal.
We’ll be back for the other one presently, ma’am.” Spud was in a hurry
to get away, and so was Cal, and in a moment the first basket was well
on its way to West House.
“I cal’late she suspects us,” said Cal when they were out of hearing.
“Did you see the way she looked at us?”
“Yes, but I don’t care a rap how much she _suspects_ as long as she
doesn’t _know_, and make trouble for us.”
When they returned for the second basket Miss Matilda had re-entered
the house, much to their relief. But as they went out a voice spoke
from the end of the front porch.
“It’s easier to carry them that way, isn’t it?” asked the girl. The
words were spoken quite gravely but there was laughter behind them.
Neither Spud nor Cal found any reply to offer, but once inside their
own gate Spud turned to Cal with a frown.
“That girl knows something,” he said decisively.
“You don’t suppose it was she who――who――”
“Of course not,” said Spud disdainfully. “A kid like that? Not likely.
But I wonder what she meant by saying it was easier to carry them this
way. Sounds as though she knew something, don’t it?” And Cal had to
agree that it did.
Spud sought information of Mrs. Linn.
“Who is the kid they’ve got over there, Marm?” he asked as they set the
basket down in a corner of the kitchen.
“Kid?” said Mrs. Linn. “Oh, you mean the little girl. Why, she’s a
niece, Spud. Did you see her? Miss Matilda was telling me about her.
She’s come to spend the winter with them. She’s their brother’s child;
Mr. George Curtis’s, I mean. He’s gone abroad or somewhere. What is she
like, Spud?”
“She’s a fresh kid,” answered Spud, “and silly. She’s pretty, though,
isn’t she, Cal?”
But Cal didn’t appear to have any opinion to express.
“Miss Matilda’s a haughty dame, isn’t she, Marm? Asked us if we wanted
some apples and I said no, we didn’t care for them. And she said ‘Hmph,
guess you’re the first West House boys that don’t. Probably you’d
rather steal them.’ What do you think of that, Marm? Is that any way
for a lady to speak to a gentleman? Two gentlemen?”
“Well now, Spud, you know you boys have made a good deal of trouble
for Miss Matilda. She’s sort of sharp, I’ll say that, but she’s a real
nice lady.”
“She offended me deeply,” said Spud.
“I’m so glad you boys didn’t do it this year,” said Marm.
“Didn’t do what?” asked Spud, selecting an apple from a basket and
setting his teeth in it.
“Why, go over there and――and trouble her apples.”
“Oh! Yes, that is nice,” answered Spud, winking across at Cal. “You
need never be afraid of anything like that happening, though, Marm,
while you have me in the house to――er――preserve order.”
“You run along, Spud Halladay,” laughed Mrs. Linn. “_You_ preserve
order! You’re worse than any of them.”
“Study!” yelled Sandy from upstairs.
“Sandy has a very disagreeable voice at times,” muttered Spud as he led
the way out, “and this is one of the times.”
It was not until Cal had entered the Den and closed the door behind him
that his eyes lighted on his roommate. Ned was standing in front of an
open bureau drawer with a brown leather collar-box in his hand and a
look of consternation on his face.
“Hello,” said Cal, “what’s the matter?”
Ned hesitated a moment. Then he replaced some collars in the box, put
it back in the drawer and closed the drawer.
“Nothing much,” he answered finally. “Only someone――only my eight
dollars is gone.”