IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY
Ned and Hoop and The Fungus came back in time for dinner rather tired
of body but undismayed of spirit. They brought a new assortment of
“genuine” arrowheads and many highly colored post-cards. And The Fungus
had purchased a photograph frame fashioned of wood with views of Indian
Head on it. This, he stated, he meant to give to someone at Christmas.
He was rather vague as to the identity of the future recipient and Spud
got alarmed and announced carelessly that personally he didn’t care for
Christmas presents.
“Of course it’s a perfectly good photograph frame, Fungus, and all
that. And it looks quite expensive, too. I suppose you had to give as
much as five cents for it.”
“You run away and play,” answered The Fungus indignantly. “It cost
fifty cents, didn’t it, Ned?”
“Really?” exclaimed Spud. “I don’t see how they can sell them for
that!” An ambiguous remark that caused The Fungus much speculation.
The trio were full of their trip and took turns narrating their
adventures during dinner until at last Sandy voiced the sentiment of
the rest of the company.
“Write it out, Hoop,” he said wearily, “and send it to Copenhagen. You
talk so much about it I don’t believe you ever got to Indian Head.”
“That’s right, don’t give it all to us now, Hoop,” said Dutch. “Keep it
and deliver a lecture in the Town Hall. I thought you were going along,
Cal.”
“I was, but――I changed my mind. I cal’late my discoveries are more
important than theirs,” he added meaningly.
“Discoveries?” asked Sandy. “What about?”
“I’ll tell you after dinner.”
“Something I mustn’t hear,” said Mrs. Linn good-naturedly. “I suppose
you’ve been in mischief.”
“What I admire about you, Marm,” said Sandy with a laugh, “is
your――your――what’s the word, Ned; acumen?”
“Marm never wears one,” said Spud gravely.
On the porch later Cal told them what he had learned that morning from
Miss Molly Elizabeth Curtis. Sandy was inclined to be severe with the
young lady, but the rest, especially Spud, thought it was an excellent
joke.
“She must be a smart kid,” Spud asserted. “And plucky, too. Think of
her climbing down a water-spout!”
“It wasn’t a water-spout, it was a rain-spout,” corrected Dutch.
“Oh, what’s the difference?”
“Lots. Rain-spouts are on houses and water-spouts are in Captain
Marryat’s stories.”
“Just the same,” said Dutch, “I don’t like her having that pillow-case.
Won’t she hand it over, Cal?”
“No, she won’t. She says she’s――she’s going to――to hold it over us.”
“Do what?” asked Sandy, puzzled.
“Why, keep it and make us do what she wants.”
“Well, what――do you――think――of that?” gasped The Fungus.
“Someone ought to box her ears!” declared Sandy indignantly.
“You might suggest it to Miss Matilda,” laughed Spud. “I think she
needs it myself. Just the same, she’s a smart kid!”
“I don’t believe she would tell on us,” hazarded Clara anxiously.
“I’m sure she wouldn’t,” agreed Cal. “Still, I cal――I guess we’d better
be sort of decent to her.”
“But what does she want?” asked Sandy frowningly.
“Well, she wants to learn to play tennis, for one thing,” Cal replied.
“And she says she wants to see a football game.”
“Wants to come over here and play tennis?” gasped Hoop. “She certainly
has nerve! Who’s going to teach her, Cal, you?”
“No, I told her I didn’t play. I guess it’s up to you, Hoop.”
The others laughed, but Hoop waxed wroth. “I guess I see myself
teaching a girl to play tennis!” he said. “If she comes over here once
she’ll be always tagging around. Girls are beastly bothers.”
“But you’re just as much in it as we are,” said Spud gravely. “And if
she wants you to teach her I guess you’d better, Hoop.”
“She didn’t say anything about me,” cried Hoop. “She doesn’t know me.”
“Ah, but she wants to, probably. She admires your manly beauty, Hoop. I
move that Hoop be appointed to teach her tennis. All in favor will so
signify.”
“Aye!” The vote was unanimous.
“Oh, cut it out!” growled Hoop. “I don’t play well enough, anyway.
Sandy or Ned ought to teach her if anybody’s got to.”
“We’ll put on the finishing touches, after you’ve taught her the
rudiments,” said Ned kindly. “As to football, why, I guess that’s where
Clara comes in. As he doesn’t play he will make a nice guide for the
girl. All in favor――”
“Aye!”
Clara looked worried but said nothing.
“She’s as pretty as a picture, Clara,” said Spud. “Wish I were you!”
“You can take my place if you want to,” said Clara eagerly.
“Yes, but you see I have to play,” Spud answered hurriedly, while the
others laughed. “Is there――is there any other little thing we can do
for her, Cal?”
“Not that I know of――yet. I cal’late she’ll think of something, though,”
he added gloomily.
“It’s perfect nonsense,” declared Sandy, “but I don’t see what else we
can do. We’ll just have to――to humor her and get on the right side of
her until she gives up that old pillow-case.”
“Even if she did,” said Dutch, “she could tell on us any time she got
mad.”
“Let her! She wouldn’t have any proof then. Ned, you’re a diplomat.
Suppose you make it your life’s work to recover that silly old
pillow-case.”
“Oh, all right. Me for the diplomatic service. When do we get a look at
this lady friend of yours, Cal?”
“I don’t know. You see her aunts don’t want her to have anything to do
with us, and maybe――”
“Hooray!” shouted The Fungus. “That’s our only hope, fellows. Let’s go
over and break a few windows so Miss Matilda will hate us worse than
ever.”
“Or we might write an anonymous letter to her telling how depraved we
all are,” suggested Spud.
“She says we’re varmints,” said Cal.
“Did she say that?” demanded Spud. “Now I _will_ bust a window for
her.” And he took up a tennis racket and made as though to hurl it over
the hedge in the direction of the Curtis house.
“Honest to goodness, fellows, there’s something in that,” said Dutch
thoughtfully. “If we could only convince the Old Maids that we are
really desperate characters it’s a sure thing that she wouldn’t let
that obnoxious kid come anywhere near us.”
“But how shall we do it?” asked Sandy.
“I don’t know. We’ll think it over.”
“Yes, but suppose the Obnoxious Kid――which is a perfectly good name
for her――gets huffy because she can’t learn to play tennis and see the
football games and goes and shows that pillow-case to the Old Maids?”
asked Sandy.
“I don’t believe,” answered Spud, “that she would do it anyway. I’ll
bet she wouldn’t want them to know that she’d shinned down a water――I
mean rain-spout any more than we’d want them to know that we’d been
over helping ourselves to their apples.”
“That’s so,” said Sandy. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Well, I wouldn’t think too much of it now,” said The Fungus dryly.
“That girl is the original trouble maker and I’ll bet she’d go to
prison if she could get us into a fix. Girls are always making trouble,
anyway. The best thing we can do is to keep her away at any cost. I
think we ought to do something awful and see that the Old Maids hear
about it.”
“Let us hear from the Diplomatist,” suggested Sandy.
“The Diplomatist agrees,” answered Ned. “Let’s think up some scheme
for making ourselves thoroughly disliked over there. Then they’ll keep
Miss Molly away from us and we won’t be troubled with her. I know what
girls are. They’re always wanting you to do things for them. She’d be
an awful bother, fellows.”
“Of course she would,” Hoop agreed with enthusiasm, thinking of the
tennis lessons.
“Well, we’ll have to think up something,” said Sandy. “Meanwhile I
guess it’s pretty near time to wander over to the field. I think they
might cut out practice this afternoon.”
“When’s the first game?” asked Hoop.
“Two weeks from today. We haven’t got a show this year, fellows.” Sandy
as usual was sadly pessimistic.
“Oh, get out!” said The Fungus. “We’ll wipe the gridiron up with the
Hall. You wait and see!”
“Oh, I’ll wait all right, and I’ll see,” answered Sandy gloomily. “I’ve
seen before. The trouble with the House Team is that it never has any
team-play.”
“You’re a croaker,” said Spud disgustedly. “Come on over, fellows, and
let’s get busy. Gee, I’d work Saturdays and every other old day if it
meant a win over Hall this year!”
They trooped off through the park together half an hour later. Clara,
although he couldn’t play on the House Team and had not attempted
to get a place on one of the Junior elevens, was an enthusiastic
partisan and followed practice faithfully every day. At three o’clock
the two gridirons were sprinkled with players, House and Hall working
diligently in preparation for the coming battles. Brooks, or Brooksie
as he was called, was captain of the House Team. He was a tall,
well-built fellow of seventeen, an excellent leader and a good player.
At practice he was somewhat of a martinet and, as Spud said once,
could get more work out of a fellow than a slave-driver. This afternoon
drill was harder and longer than usual. Cal did his best, but before
practice was half over had decided that he would never make a football
player. Something that added to his discouragement was a calling-down
by Brooks.
“I say, Boland,” said Brooks, “this isn’t an afternoon tea, you know.
Don’t you come out here again dressed like that. Why haven’t you got
your togs on? Too lazy to change, were you?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, but darted away to lecture a back who was
dropping too many punts. Cal looked after him mutinously and made up
his mind then and there that was positively his last appearance on the
football field. He was mistaken, but he didn’t know it.
He had to skimp his shower-bath in order to get back to West House in
time to keep his appointment at the hedge at half-past five. He didn’t
particularly want to keep it, but he was afraid not to. When he thought
what might happen if Doctor Webster learned of the raid on the apple
orchard he was ready and willing to do most anything to placate the
Obnoxious Kid. She was there waiting for him.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m afraid you’re late.”
She had squirmed through the lilac hedge and was leaning against the
picket fence in full view of West House. Cal wished she had kept out
of sight. He didn’t exactly know why he objected to being seen there
in conversation with her, but he did object and showed it by his
restlessness and evident desire to be gone. Molly, observing this,
prolonged matters dreadfully.
“Have you been playing football?” she asked.
“Yes,” answered Cal briefly.
“It must be fun to be a boy.” Molly sighed enviously. “Did you tell the
others about me?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?” she asked anxiously. “Were they angry?”
“No, not exactly. Sandy was sort of mad.”
“Who’s Sandy?”
“He’s House Leader. His name is Fred Sanderson.”
“I don’t think I like him. Do you all have nicknames?”
“Yes, there’s Sandy and The Fungus and Dutch and Hoop and Spud and――and
Clara. Ned Brent――he’s my roommate――hasn’t any name except Ned.”
“Do you suppose they’ll let me call them by their nicknames?” asked
Molly.
“I――I suppose so. Did you――ask your aunt about letting you come over?”
“Yes. She wanted to know who I was talking to and I told her it was one
of the boys who came for the apples. I said you were very well-behaved
and polite and that you wanted me to play tennis with you.”
“And what did she say?” he asked anxiously.
“She said,” Molly replied cheerfully, “that I couldn’t do anything of
the sort!” Cal heaved a sigh of relief and Molly frowned.
“I don’t think it’s very nice of you to look so――so pleased about it!”
“I――I didn’t. It’s too bad, isn’t it? But I cal’late she knows what is
best for you.”
“You’re just glad,” said Molly unhappily. “And after I went and said
such nice things about you, too!” Cal’s conscience smote him.
“I’m awfully much obliged,” he muttered. “Perhaps she’ll change her
mind.”
“I’m sure she will,” responded Molly. Cal’s face fell again. “She says
I may talk to you when I meet you, and that’s more than I thought she
would let me do. That’s nice, isn’t it?”
“Awfully,” murmured Cal, striving his best to look properly
appreciative. “Only I cal’late we aren’t likely to meet very often.”
“Oh, yes, we will. I’m often outdoors. All you’ve got to do is to
whistle when you want to see me.”
“Oh!” said Cal.
“Then I’ll let you know how I’m getting along. Aunt Lydia doesn’t think
you boys are very bad and I’m sure she will be on my side.”
“Well, I――I’ve got to be going,” said Cal. “I hope it will be all right.”
“Is Mrs. Linn nice?” asked Molly.
“Bully,” Cal said.
“Aunt Lydia said she was,” said Molly thoughtfully. “Well, good night.
I’ll see you tomorrow maybe.”
“I――I don’t believe so,” Cal stammered. “Tomorrow’s Sunday and we go to
church in the morning――”
“Oh, if you don’t want to!” exclaimed Molly with a toss of her head.
“That’s different. You’re a very horrid, rude boy, Cal, and――and perhaps
Aunt Matilda is quite right!”
She turned and pushed her way through the hedge and out of sight. Cal
looked after her, wavering between an impulse to call her back and
apologize and a sensation of vast relief. After a moment he turned away
whistling and went into the house. He was sorry he had offended her,
for she was a real nice girl, after all, but perhaps it was just as
well, for if she remained angry with him she probably wouldn’t bother
them any more. When the others came back he said nothing of having seen
Molly and hoped that Marm hadn’t observed him talking to her across the
fence. If she had she made no allusion to it.
[Illustration: “You’re a very horrid, rude boy, Cal”]
Being Saturday night there was no study required and the boys were
free to do as they pleased. It pleased them to remain out of doors
until it was quite dark, for the evening was warm for the time of
year. There was a tennis foursome that ended in a battle, with tennis
balls for missiles, involving the entire company. Afterwards they
went indoors and had music. Cal was called on to sing and give his
entire repertoire, Ned playing his accompaniments. After they had
“Yo-heave-ho’d” to their hearts’ content they went upstairs and ended
the evening with a grand pillow-fight, Den and Sun Parlor versus
Ice Chest and Smellery, that lasted with unabated vigor until Marm
requested a cessation of hostilities.
Cal and Ned got on together without embarrassment as long as there were
others about, but as soon as they were alone they found nothing to say
and the coolness was very apparent. Tonight, as they were destined to
do on many nights in the future, they undressed and got to bed without
the exchange of more than a dozen words.