High Water
As Mr. Hatfield and the Cubs watched, Guy Wentworth leaped from the
stalled car.
“Come back here, Jack!” he shouted after the fleeing boy.
The lad, however, had disappeared.
Mr. Wentworth splashed through the high water to the curb. Realizing that
he could not hope to overtake the agile boy, he entered a drugstore,
evidently to telephone police.
Upon his return a few minutes later, he paused beside the Hatfield car to
talk to the Cub Scout leader.
“What happened?” Mr. Hatfield asked him.
“Oh, Jack Phillips, one of the boys from the Child Study Institute,
eluded me. I’ve notified the police. They may pick him up later tonight,
but I doubt it. Jack is as slippery as an eel.”
“You were taking him to a boys’ industrial school?” Mr. Hatfield
inquired.
“No, to a private boarding home—to a woman named Mrs. Jones,” the social
worker replied. “Jack’s a real problem.”
“I’d judge so,” commented Mr. Hatfield.
“He’s restless and unstable. Parents are dead. He’s been under our
supervision more or less for three years now.” Mr. Wentworth drew a long
breath. “It’s been a job, I’m telling you. Jack always has an itch to run
away, and get into trouble.”
“I take it he didn’t look with favor on the idea of being placed in a
private home?”
“Jack likes to fend for himself,” the social worker replied. “He hates
restriction. That, of course, is what he needs and must have. I’m afraid,
despite our efforts, he’ll end up in an industrial school.”
“Think you’ll ever see him again?”
“Oh, the police will pick him up eventually,” Mr. Wentworth said. “They
always do. But the question is—what to do with him when he is brought
back.”
“Well, I hope you think of something,” the Cub leader returned. “I hate
to think of a boy being sent to an industrial school, if he has any good
in him.”
“Jack took advantage of me, when my car stalled in this high water. I see
you’re stuck too. Maybe I can give you a push.”
Applying his shoulder, the social worker tried to roll the car backward
toward higher pavement.
“Don’t do that,” Mr. Hatfield commanded. “You’ll strain yourself. I’ll
call a tow car.”
“We’ll help push,” Brad offered, starting to get out into the water.
“No, wait,” Mr. Wentworth ordered. “You youngsters oughtn’t to freeze
yourselves. This water is like ice. I’m already soaked to the knees. Tell
you what! I’ll go back to the drugstore and telephone for a tow car that
will push both autos on through.”
The solution seemed the most satisfactory one. Mr. Wentworth started back
toward the drugstore. Half way there, he paused as his ears detected the
sound of an approaching vehicle.
A moment later a fire engine, returning from a run, came into view. The
driver, seeing the water ahead, pulled up.
“Stalled?” he called to Mr. Wentworth.
“That’s right.”
“Hop back in your car, and we’ll give you a shove,” the fireman offered.
Both Mr. Wentworth’s automobile and Sam Hatfield’s sedan were pushed
through the water. Neither could be started immediately. However, after
the spark plugs were dried out, both cars were in running order once
more.
“Many thanks,” Mr. Hatfield told the firemen. “I’ll be glad to get home.
I’m carrying a valuable load tonight.”
The firemen, assuming that Mr. Hatfield referred to the carload of Cub
Scouts, made a joking reply. They told the Cub leader that the storm had
been a severe one. Several trees had blown down and many streets were
flooded.
Relieved to be on their way once more, Mr. Hatfield drove directly to his
residence.
“I want to rid myself of this money box first of all,” the Cub leader
said. “Then I’ll take you boys home.”
“Why don’t we stay a few minutes and help you count it?” Brad suggested.
“The job shouldn’t take long.”
“Not a bad idea,” Mr. Hatfield agreed. “Just so your folks don’t worry.
Better telephone them and explain that you’ve been delayed a few
minutes.”
The Cub leader carried the money box into the living room. While the boys
were telephoning, he built a fire in the grate.
“Now to count the money,” he said when the Cubs had returned to the
living room. “Fred, pull the blinds. We don’t need any spectators.”
Fred hastened to obey.
“I hope no one followed us here,” Dan said uneasily. “That car—”
“Oh, we lost it before we stalled in the high water,” Mr. Hatfield
reassured him. “The chances are we imagined we were being trailed.”
“Maybe, only I thought—”
“Fellows, just because we found a cash box is no reason for working up a
high-grade case of the jitters,” the Cub leader said. “The important
thing is to maintain a sensible outlook. Now let’s count the money.”
“Right-o,” grinned Dan. “Guess I did let my imagination lead me a race.”
With the blinds lowered, the boys opened up the money box. The neat
packages were stacked on the dining-room table.
Mr. Hatfield counted while the others watched and wrote down the tally.
“Two thousand one hundred and seventy-five dollars!” he announced when
the last bill had been counted.
“Wow! What a haul!” Dan exclaimed.
“What will we do with it?” Brad asked. “Turn everything over to the
police?”
“That’s the only thing to do,” Mr. Hatfield declared. “I dislike to be
bothered with a lot of questions tonight though.”
“Then why not wait until morning before calling police?” Brad suggested.
“That is, if you think the money will be safe here.”
“Oh, I’m not worried on that score, Brad. I’ll put the box away and lock
all the doors. Yes, I believe I will wait until tomorrow before notifying
the police. Then they can make a thorough investigation.”
Replacing the money in the box, Mr. Hatfield carried it upstairs. A few
minutes later, he returned empty handed.
“Where’d you hide the cash?” Fred asked his father. “Under a mattress?”
“A better place than that, I hope,” replied Mr. Hatfield. He did not
reveal the hiding place.
Brad and Dan picked up their caps, ready to leave.
Mr. Hatfield again offered to take the boys home.
“Oh, we can walk,” Brad said quickly as the Cub leader searched for his
car keys. “It’s less than two blocks.”
“Sure,” agreed Dan. “You stay here, Mr. Hatfield, and guard that money.”
Observing that the rain had ceased, the Cub leader allowed himself to be
persuaded. However, he accompanied the boys to the front door.
“Since you were the ones who found the money, the police probably will
want to question you tomorrow,” he warned.
“That’s okay,” Dan said. “We’ll be around.”
“I’ll call the police station early in the morning,” Mr. Hatfield
promised. “Meanwhile—don’t speak to anyone about the box or how much it
contained.”
Dan and Brad were rather surprised that the Cub leader should mention the
subject twice.
“You may be certain we won’t,” Brad promised.
“I should say not,” added Dan emphatically.
“All the Cubs can be trusted, I know,” Mr. Hatfield declared as he bade
the pair good-bye. “Well, boys, I’ll see you in the morning. Good night
to you both, and no nightmares about hidden treasure!”