IN WHICH TOMMY DELAYS PROGRESS AND THEY LOSE THEIR WAY
It was a fresh, cool morning, with a southerly breeze blowing up from
the ocean and rustling the leaves of the willows and maples along the
meadow walls. Big fleecy clouds sailed slowly across a blue September
sky, hundreds of birds flitted about the way and made the journey
musical, and life was well worth living. Not until they had turned into
the country road, a level, well-kept thoroughfare, did they catch a
glimpse of any habitation. Then a comfortable-looking farmhouse with
its accompanying barns and stables came into view.
“Let’s go in and get a drink of water,” suggested Tom.
No one else, however, was thirsty, and so Tom passed in through the
big gate alone while the others made themselves comfortable on the top
of the wall. Tom was gone a long time, but finally, just when Dan was
starting off to find him, he came into sight.
“What’s he got?” asked Nelson.
“Looks as though he was eating something,” answered Dan. “By Jupiter,
it’s pie!”
“You fellows missed it,” called Tom, smiling broadly. “She gave me a
piece of apple pie and it was great.”
“Doesn’t look like apple,” said Bob.
“Oh, this is squash. The first piece was apple,” was the cheerful reply.
“Well, of all pigs!” said Nelson. “How many pieces did you have?”
“Only two,” was the unruffled response. “And a glass of milk.”
Nelson looked his disgust, but Dan, reaching forward, sent the
half-consumed wedge of pastry into the dust.
“Hope you ch-ch-choke!” said Tommy warmly, viewing his prize ruefully.
“It was gu-gu-gu-good pie, too!”
But he got no sympathy from his laughing companions. Bob declared that
it served him jolly well right.
“He’ll wish he hadn’t eaten any before he gets to the end of the day’s
journey,” said Dan. “We’ve got six miles and more to Jericho, and I
guess we’d better be doing ’em.”
So they took up the march again. Everyone was in high feather. Side
excursions into adjoining fields were made, Dan went a hundred yards
out of his way to shy a stone at a noisy frog, and Nelson climbed a
cedar tree to its topmost branches merely because Bob hazarded the
opinion that cedar trees were hard to shin up. Only Tommy seemed to
experience none of the intoxication of the highway and the morning air.
Tommy appeared a bit sluggish, and kept dropping back, necessitating
frequent halts.
“Look here, Tommy,” said Dan presently, “we’re awfully fond of you, but
we love honor more; also dinner. If you really want to spend the day
around here studying nature, why just say so; we’ll wait for you at
Jericho.”
Whereupon Tom gave a grunt and moved faster. But at the end of half an
hour the truth was out; Tommy didn’t feel just right.
“Where do you hurt?” asked Bob skeptically.
“I--I have a beast of a pain in my chest,” said Tom, leaning against a
fence and laying one hand pathetically halfway down the front of his
flannel shirt. The others howled gleefully.
“On his chest!” shrieked Dan.
“Sure it isn’t a headache?” laughed Nelson.
Tom looked aggrieved.
“I gu-gu-gu-guess if you fu-fu-fu-fellows had it you wu-wu-wu-wu-wu----”
“Look here, Tommy,” said Bob, “you haven’t got a pain; you’ve just
swallowed an alarm clock!”
“That’s what you get for eating all that pie and making a hog of
yourself,” said Dan sternly.
“It’s Tommy’s tummy,” murmured Nelson.
Whatever it was, it undoubtedly hurt, for Tommy was soon doubled up on
the grass groaning dolefully. The others, exchanging comical glances,
made themselves comfortable alongside.
“Got anything in your medicine chest that will help him, Dan?” asked
Nelson. Dan shook his head. The medicine chest consisted of a two-ounce
bottle of camphor liniment and a similar sized flask of witch-hazel.
“How you feeling now, Tommy?” asked Bob gravely.
“Better,” muttered Tom. “I’d ju-ju-ju-just like to know what that woman
put in her pu-pu-pu-pie!”
“You don’t suppose it was poison, do you?” asked Dan, with a wink at
the others.
Tom’s head came up like a shot and he stared wildly about him.
“I bu-bu-bu-bet it wa-wa-wa-was!” he shrieked. “It fu-fu-feels like it!
A-a-a-a-arsenic!”
“That’s mean, Dan,” said Bob. “He’s only fooling, Tommy. You have just
got a plain, everyday tummyache. Lie still a bit and you’ll be all
right.”
Tom looked from one to the other in deep mistrust.
“If I du-du-du-die,” he wailed, “I--I----”
He broke off to groan and wriggle uneasily.
“What, Tommy?” asked Dan with a grin.
“I--I hope you all ch-ch-ch-ch-choke!”
Tom’s pain in his “chest” kept them there the better part of two hours,
and it was past eleven when the invalid pronounced himself able to
continue the journey. There was still some four miles to go in order
to reach Jericho, which hamlet they had settled upon as their dinner
stop, and they struck out briskly.
“What was that chap’s name?” asked Dan. “The one we were to get dinner
from.”
“Hooper,” answered Bob, “William Hooper. I wish I was there now. I’m as
hungry as a bear.”
There was a groan from Tom.
“That’s all right, Tommy, but we haven’t feasted on nice apple and
squash pie, you see.”
“Shut up!” begged Tom.
“How big’s this Jericho place?” asked Nelson.
Out came Bob’s road map.
“Seems to be about three houses there according to this,” answered Bob.
“Gee! I hope we don’t get by without seeing it,” said Dan. “Do you
suppose there’s a sign on it?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve heard there was a tree opposite it,” Bob
replied gravely. “And there’s something else here too,” he continued,
still studying the map. “It’s a long, black thing; looks as though it
might be a skating rink or a ropewalk.”
“Maybe it’s the poorhouse,” suggested Dan, looking over his shoulder.
“Or a hospital for Tommy,” added Nelson.
“Anyhow, I hope there’s something to eat there,” said Bob.
“Me too,” sighed Nelson. “This is the longest old seven miles I ever
saw. And it’s after twelve o’clock. Sure we’re on the right road, Bob?”
“Of course. Look at the map.”
“Oh, hang the map! Let’s ask some one.”
“All right. It does seem a good ways. We’ll ask the next person we see.”
But although they had met half a dozen persons up to that time, it
seemed now that the district had suddenly become depopulated. Nelson
said he guessed they were all at home eating dinner. After another half
hour of steady walking, during which time Tom recovered his spirits,
they came into sight of a little village set along the road. There was
one store there and some five or six houses.
“Anyhow,” said Dan hopefully, “we can get some crackers and cheese in
the store.”
But when they had piled through the door they changed their minds.
It was a hardware store! A little old man with a bald head and
brass-rimmed spectacles limped down behind the counter to meet them.
“Is this Jericho?” asked Bob.
“Jericho? No, this ain’t Jericho,” was the answer.
“Oh! Er--what is it?”
“Bakerville.”
“Where’s Bakerville?”
“Right here.”
“I know, but--well, where’s Jericho?”
“’Bout eight miles from here.”
Four boys groaned in unison. Bob pulled out his map, in spite of the
fact that Dan looked as though he was ready to seize upon and destroy
it.
“That’s right,” said Bob sadly. “We got too far north.”
“I should say we did!” snorted Dan. “About eight miles!”
“But I don’t see how we managed to get off the right road,” said Bob.
“I do,” answered Nelson. “Don’t you remember when Tom was laid out?
There were two roads there just beyond. We must have taken the wrong
one.”
“That’s so,” said Tom; “I remember.”
“Lots of good your remembering does now,” grunted Nelson. “If you
hadn’t got to fussing with those pies----!”
“Thought you was in Jericho, did yer?” asked the shopkeeper with a
chuckle. They nodded soberly. “Well, well, that’s a good joke, ain’t
it?”
“Swell!” muttered Dan.
Tom grunted something about choking.
“Is there any place here where we can get something to eat?” asked Bob.
“I guess not, but there’s a hotel about a mile along. I guess you can
get something there.”
So they prevailed on him to go to the door with them and point out the
way.
“It’s on your way to Jericho,” said the storekeeper, pointing out the
road. “You turn down that first road there and then bear to the left
until you come to a big white farmhouse. Then you turn to the right
and keep on about half a mile, or maybe a mile, and the Center House
is just a little beyond. It’s a brown house with lots of windows and a
barn.”
“Can’t help finding it,” muttered Dan sarcastically.
They were rather quiet as they passed through the village and took the
turn indicated. From one house came an enticing odor of onions, and Dan
leaned up against a telephone pole and pretended to weep. That mile was
as long as two, but in the end they came into sight of the “brown house
with lots of windows and a barn.” But it didn’t look very hospitable.
The windows were closed and shuttered, and the barn appeared to be in
the last stages of decay. With sinking hearts they climbed the steps
and beat a tattoo on the front door. All was silence.
“Empty!” groaned Nelson.
“Nothing doing!” murmured Dan.
“Hit it again,” counseled Tommy.
They all took a hand at beating on that door, but it didn’t do the
least bit of good. The place was empty and closed up. Nelson sat down
on the top step and stared sadly across the country road. Tom joined
him.
“Wish I had some more of that pie,” he muttered.
Bob produced the map, which was already getting frayed at the corners,
and opened it out.
“The best thing to do,” he said, “is to keep on till we find a
farmhouse or something, and beg some food.”
“I could eat raw dog,” said Dan. “Any houses in sight on that lying map
of yours?”
“Sure.”
“How many miles off?”
“About--er--about two or three, I should say.”
“Can’t be done,” said Dan decidedly. “I couldn’t walk two miles if
there was a thousand dollars at the end of it.”
“I could do it if there was a ham sandwich at the end of it,” said
Nelson.
“Hunger has driven him daffy,” explained Dan sadly.
“Well, there’s no use staying here,” said Bob impatiently.
“Oh, I don’t know. Might as well die here as anywhere,” answered Nelson.
“Wasn’t it your father, Dan, who said the beauty about Long Island was
that the towns were near together and we could get good accommodations
easily?” asked Tom.
Dan made no answer.
Suddenly a noise startled them. At the end of the porch stood a boy
of sixteen in an old blue shirt and faded overalls. He was plainly
surprised to see them, and stood looking at them for several seconds
before he spoke. Finally,
“Hello!” he said.
“Greetings,” answered Dan. “Will you kindly send the head waiter to us?”
“Huh?” asked the youth.
“Well, never mind then. Just show us to our rooms. We’ll have a light
lunch sent up and keep our appetites for dinner.”
“Is the hotel closed?” interrupted Bob. The youth nodded.
“Yep. They didn’t make no money last summer, so they didn’t open it
this year. Did you knock?”
“Oh, no, we didn’t exactly knock,” answered Dan. “We only kind of
tapped weakly.”
“Want anything?”
“Yes, a man at Bakerville said we could get some dinner here. I don’t
suppose we can, though,” added Bob sadly. The other shook his head
slowly.
“Guess not,” he said. “There’s a hotel at Minton Hill, though. There’s
lots of summer folks there.”
“How far’s that?”
“Not more’n six miles.”
The four groaned in unison.
“We haven’t had anything since seven o’clock,” said Nelson.
“You ain’t?” The youth became instantly sympathetic. “Well, ain’t that
too bad?”
The question scarcely seemed to demand an answer and so received none.
The youth in the overalls frowned deeply.
“Well, now, look here,” he said finally. “Me an’ dad lives back here in
the barn and looks after the farm. We ain’t got much, but if some bread
and butter and milk will do, why, I guess----”
The four threw themselves upon him as one man.
“Bread!” shouted Dan.
“Butter!” cried Nelson.
“Milk!” gurgled Tommy.
“Lead the way!” said Bob.