WARD'S HARD LUCK
The noise of the explosions had been heard throughout the neighborhood.
From the houses near by heads were thrust from the windows and a
nervous dog was barking excitedly, trying to tell any one who would
listen that he just knew something had happened.
"What was it?" cried Polly, as she and the other members of the Riddle
Club ran out. "Where was it? It sounded back of the barn."
Around to the other side of the Larue barn the boys and girls ran and
there saw a sight that made them gasp in astonishment. Ward Larue,
Jess's brother, sat on the ground, surrounded by the smoking ruins of
what had been a large package of fine fireworks. There was nothing left
of the treasure but a few smoldering sticks--everything had burned.
"All blew up--everything!" was the way Ward expressed it.
"Are you hurt?" demanded Polly anxiously.
"What happened?" Margy cried.
"Where are the fireworks?" This from Artie, though what was left of the
fireworks was only too apparent.
Ward got slowly to his feet. He was not seriously hurt, though one or
two of his fingers were painfully scorched. He blew upon them to cool
them.
"Now we haven't got a blamed thing for the Fourth of July," he remarked
sadly. "After I spent two days persuading Fred to let us spend some of
the money, too!"
Even Fred had to laugh at this. Ward had been most insistent that some
of the dues of the club be expended for fireworks and he had, with some
assistance from the others, induced Fred, as treasurer, to let them
take a small sum from the bank and expend it for the coming Fourth of
July celebration.
"Never mind, as long as you are not hurt," said Polly consolingly. "It
is a wonder you didn't blow up with the fireworks."
"I suppose you put a box of matches in with 'em," Fred suggested. "Or
were you fooling with the punk?"
Ward glanced at him indignantly. It was bad enough, he thought, to be
almost frightened out of his wits by having a package of fireworks go
off in his arms, but to be accused of setting the fire was too much.
"Is any one killed?" asked Mrs. Pepper, peering fearfully over the
fence.
Her garden joined the Larue place and she had been weeding her onions
when the noise had startled her and made her, so she complained, drop
the sharp hoe on her foot.
"I came within an ace of slicing off my toe," she said. "What was that
racket?"
"I had some fireworks and they blew up," Ward explained.
"I wish they'd all blow up and get it over with," announced Mrs. Pepper
grimly. "The time to have fireworks go off is a week before the Fourth.
Then we might enjoy the day in peace."
She looked severely at Ward as though she blamed him for the fireworks
that had _not_ blown up.
"Perhaps now you'll be spared to your folks for another year, with all
your arms and legs," continued Mrs. Pepper. "You take my advice and
don't get any more fireworks, young man."
She went back to her weeding, and Ward complained that there was no
hope of getting more fireworks. Not unless Fred resigned as treasurer.
"What I want to know," Fred said sternly, ignoring this last remark,
"is this: How came the explosions?"
Ward beckoned toward the barn door.
"Come up to the clubroom and I'll tell you," he whispered mysteriously.
Back in the clubroom, the members of the Riddle Club gathered around
Ward. He was still carrying the smoking remains of the fireworks and
now he put them down on the table and looked at them regretfully.
"They were the best Roman candles you ever saw," he mourned. "Better
than last year, a heap. And pinwheels and snakes----"
Margy gave a squeak of anguish. "Snakes" were her pet diversion on the
Fourth and she had expressly stipulated that they be included in Ward's
purchases.
"But how did they blow up? What happened?" urged Fred.
"Those fireworks," Ward said solemnly, "were blown up!"
The others stared at him. Polly was the first to speak.
"You mean," she almost whispered, "you mean--some one deliberately blew
them up?"
Ward nodded. His round face was smudged with smoke and damp with
perspiration.
"Firecracker!" he told them shortly. "Joe Anderson threw it."
"That mean, hateful boy!" sputtered Margy, but Fred was strangely calm.
"Are you sure?" he demanded.
"Of course I'm sure," and Ward nodded. "I was coming around the back
way, to go into the barn, and all of a sudden Joe ran out from behind
the old lilac bush. He had a firecracker in his hand and it was
sputtering. I yelled at him, but he threw it straight at me and the
next thing I knew things started to go off with a bang. Did you hear
it?" he asked as an afterthought.
"Yes, we heard it," admitted Fred.
"Of all the mean boys!" Margy said again. "Now I hope the Conundrum
Club is happy--we won't have a thing to celebrate with on the Fourth of
July."
"Perhaps he didn't know Ward was carrying fireworks," protested Polly,
the peacemaker.
"Maybe there is something that will go off yet," her brother Artie
suggested, a hopeful hint that had the effect of setting them all to
looking over the wreckage to see what might be salvaged.
If this is the first time you have met these girls and boys, you will
need to know something more about them. The history of the Riddle
Club, how Polly Marley started it and how it prospered so that a rival
organization was formed, is told in the first book of this series,
called "The Riddle Club at Home." The story of the first prize riddle
contests and how they were won, is also told in that book. A second
volume, "The Riddle Club in Camp" follows the adventures of the six
chums at beautiful Lake Bassing and tells how they were able to help
a kind old hermit find his lost home and friends. Up to that time
the Riddle Club had met in the Larue barn, where they had a room to
themselves. But cold weather made a heated room desirable, and when
Mrs. Marley gave them the use of a room in her house for the winter,
the club took possession gratefully. How they enjoyed the winter and
what sport they had, is revealed in the third book, "The Riddle Club
Through the Holidays." Treasurer Fred Williamson lost the dues and the
bank. But he found them again, and the experience only tended to make
him more careful.
As soon as spring came, the children moved back to the clubroom in the
Larue barn, for it was a delightful place and had the additional charm
of seclusion. No matter how much the boys and girls stamped on the
floor, or how often they might be moved to song, no one would ever
be disturbed. No wonder the members of the Conundrum Club, of which
Carrie Pepper was president, often envied the Riddle Club its choice of
meeting places.
"There isn't a thing left," pronounced Fred, when he had examined the
blackened ruins. "Not a thing. I wish I knew whether Joe meant to throw
that firecracker at you."
"There wasn't any one else back of the barn except me," Ward declared.
"Of course he was throwing it at me."
"Well, he might not have known that you were carrying fireworks,"
said Fred. "He might have been trying to scare you and tossed the
firecracker before he noticed what you had in your arms."
"Yes, that must have been it," Polly chimed in, always ready to find an
excuse for every one.
Ward did not seem convinced.
"Then why," he asked slowly, "didn't Joe Anderson stick around when he
heard the noise? How did he know I wasn't burned up or something?"
This was a difficult question to answer, so no one attempted to reply.
Instead, Polly suggested that they consider the meeting adjourned and
go in to supper.
Of course, with the Fourth of July two days away and no fireworks on
hand, the Riddle Club had something to think about. Urged by Fred and
by Polly, who, as the oldest, had considerable influence, they were
careful not to accuse Joe Anderson of purposely setting fire to the
package in Ward's arms.
"You can't go around saying he did it," Fred declared, "for there is
no way to prove it. Anyway, we can show the Conundrum Club that we
don't bicker. We'll have some fireworks, anyway, because we each have a
dollar to spend."
On hearing the tragic news, the three mothers had generously provided a
dollar for each club member, and this, on the advice of Polly, was to
be most wisely expended "fifty-fifty" for firecrackers by day and Roman
candles and other glittering delights by night.
"We ought to get a lot of stuff," said Fred cheerfully, as they set
off for the shop the next morning. "I'm glad now that Ward went early;
if he had waited till the last minute and then the things blew up,
everything might have been sold out."
Six dollars will, as you doubtless know, buy a quantity of
firecrackers, punk and fireworks, even for six children with varying
demands and tastes. Mr. Harrison, whose small store was crammed with
Fourth of July supplies, wrapped everything up in one large package and
the three boys agreed to take turns carrying it.
"Let's go down by the wharf," suggested Polly, as they left the shop.
Mr. Larue was the head of the steamboat line, and the wharf on which
his office was built was of course familiar ground to the Riddle Club.
Nearly all the express and freight business in River Bend was done by
the boats, as the nearest railroad was some miles away.
"You're just the folks I wanted to see," said Mr. Larue, who was busy
on the wharf as the boys and girls came in sight. "There is a package
here addressed to the Riddle Club. I thought you might know something
about it and where it ought to go."
"A package!" said six voices in chorus. "Who sent it?"