THE GLORIOUS FOURTH
"Where is it?" cried Artie, in great excitement.
"What is it?" Ward demanded.
Mr. Larue smiled as he continued to write placidly in his consignment
book.
"I do not know what is in it," he admitted. "But I can tell you where
to find it--on my desk."
Mr. Larue's office was small, but the entire membership of the Riddle
Club succeeded in getting through the narrow doorway at the same
moment--or nearly. There on the desk was a large square package.
"The Riddle Club, River Bend, Wharf Number One," read Polly aloud. "Oh,
my goodness! What do you suppose it can be?"
The sharp-eyed Margy had been reading the sender's address printed in
the upper right-hand corner.
"Look!" she cried. "Look! It says 'T. Kirby, Rye.' Mr. Kirby sent it to
us!"
Before any one could stop him, Ward had torn off a small corner of the
wrapping paper.
"Fireworks!" he shouted. "I saw the red! I saw the red!"
He meant he had seen the brilliant red of the paper which enclosed the
contents of the package.
Of course there was nothing to do but open the parcel. It was from Mr.
Kirby, the cousin of the old hermit the children had befriended at
camp, the same Mr. Kirby who had sent them their club pins and rings.
Evidently he knew exactly what the Riddle Club liked, though he could
not have known their special need for fireworks, since the package had
been expressed before the explosion which had come so near to burning
Ward.
"Say!" Fred was so excited he almost stuttered. "Say! I tell you what
let's do--we won't say a word about these fireworks. We'll pretend we
have only the stuff we bought this afternoon, and then Fourth of July
night we'll set all this off and the Conundrum Club won't know what to
make of it."
Every one agreed to this plan and the package was left in the office,
Mr. Larue promising to bring it home with him that night. This proved
to be a lucky decision, as far as secrecy was concerned, for halfway
home the children met Carrie Pepper, the head of the rival club,
accompanied by two other members of the Conundrum Club, Stella Dorman
and Albert Holmes.
"Where you been?" asked Carrie sociably.
"We had to go and buy more fireworks," Fred answered, noting with alarm
the blank look in Artie Marley's eyes.
Artie was rather absent-minded and he had been known to give away a
secret without knowing it.
"Oh, yes, yours burned up, didn't they?" said Carrie. "That was too
bad. I don't suppose you could get very much; all the good things were
bought. We have some dandy fireworks. We are going to set them off on
my lawn. You'll be able to see them, and that will be almost as much
fun as though you had some."
"Oh, we have some," Margy hastened to explain. "We each had a dollar,
and if you put everything together, you have more, or at least it
always seems that way."
"Well, anyway, you can see ours," repeated Carrie. "We have two dozen
Roman candles."
Stella Dorman stared coolly at Ward.
"You burned up the fireworks, didn't you?" she asked, with apparent
interest.
The unexpectedness of this left Ward gasping for breath. Jess spoke for
him.
"Ward had nothing to do with it," she cried indignantly. "It's a wonder
he wasn't burned up--every one says so. Joe Anderson threw a lighted
firecracker and it exploded all the stuff."
"But he didn't mean to," Carrie put in hastily. "Joe wasn't looking. He
just threw the firecracker over his shoulder and he jumped a mile when
he heard the explosion."
"Yes, we noticed he jumped around the block and down the street home,"
commented Fred dryly.
"You don't think he meant to do it, do you?" Albert Holmes said. "Joe
wouldn't do a thing like that."
Ward had regained his breath by this time and he was determined to be
heard.
"I don't see," he remarked a little pensively, "how any one can throw
a firecracker over his shoulder the minute I come in sight. He waited
till I was almost in front of him."
"He told me that the firecracker was ready to explode," Albert
insisted. "You wouldn't want him to burn his fingers off, would you?"
"I think we ought to be going home," said Polly. "Mother wants me to
help her pack--the trunks are going to-night."
"We're going to Sunrise Beach for the whole summer," proclaimed Carrie.
"If you get time, come and see us. We'll be at the bungalow colony:
Mattie Helms' mother has a beautiful new bungalow."
"Now, Margy, don't burst," advised Polly, as the Riddle Club members
walked on. "I wish you could have seen your face when Carrie was
talking. You looked like some offended queen."
"Did you ever hear of anything so silly in your life!" sputtered Margy
furiously. "Asking us to come and see her as though she had just met
us. And I've known Carrie Pepper ever since we were in kindergarten!"
Margy was just a little inclined to "put on airs" herself, if the truth
were known, but she did not like to be the victim of some one else's
affectations.
"Oh, what difference does it make?" good-natured Polly protested. "We
won't see her all summer--at least I don't think we shall. The Helms
love to dress up and have parties, and we are not going to have that
kind of summer at all."
"Anyway, wait till we have our own fireworks party," Artie said gayly.
"Perhaps the Conundrum Club will come over and watch us. And won't they
wonder where we got the stuff!"
The evening before the Fourth was close and muggy, but it is doubtful
if any of the Riddle Club members minded the heat, even Margy, who
dearly liked to be comfortable. Lights burned late in the Marley
and Larue and Williamson houses, for trunks were being packed for
the trip to Sunrise Beach. They would go to the railroad station by
motor truck late that night, and the day after the Fourth of July the
three families were to follow, making the trip in Mr. Larue's and Mr.
Williamson's cars.
"I want to be right here at home for the Fourth," Mrs. Marley had
declared, when the question was raised of spending the holiday at the
beach. "Shore towns are crowded over the Fourth and we shall be more
comfortable in our own homes. Besides, the traffic will be less crowded
the day after, one way at least. Let's stay at home till after the
Fourth."
This was felt to be wise advice, and the boys and girls were
secretly pleased. They had a good many matters of importance to
attend to, including the meeting of the Riddle Club which Ward had
so unfortunately missed, and they felt that fireworks at home might
present greater opportunities for "experiments" than a strange resort
would afford.
Boom! sounded early the next morning. Boom! Boom!
"It's Fourth of July!" shouted Jess, tumbling out of bed. "I told Ward
to wake me up!"
But Ward was merrily firing his crackers, with no thought of sleeping
sisters. Fred Williamson and Artie Marley were with him, and by the
time the three girls had joined them they had made a respectable hole
in their packages and had announced to all of River Bend that another
Independence Day had dawned.
"Mother says not to shoot another thing till after breakfast," said
Margy. "Oh-h, look at the tin can!"
For as she spoke a tin can sailed skyward with telling effect and Fred
beamed proudly.
"Let me do that!" begged Margy.
"After breakfast," Fred promised, and the chums separated reluctantly.
They all ate with more speed than their mothers could strictly approve,
but as the Fourth of July, like Christmas, comes but once a year,
leniency was granted.
"It is so warm, I shouldn't think you'd want to go near a firecracker,"
said Mrs. Marley, catching Artie as he asked to be excused and made a
dash for the front porch.
"Oh, yes, Mother, they're great," he assured her. "Only Joe Anderson
has a pistol," he added.
"He's a more foolish and reckless boy than I gave him credit for,
then," declared Artie's father, who overheard this. "A lad of his age
has no business with such a thing."
"Now let me fire a tin can," Margy demanded, as soon as they were
reassembled after breakfast.
The sun was blazing down over them, but the boys and girls scarcely
felt its rays. Margy knelt on the gravel walk and held her breath while
she touched the firecracker with a long piece of punk, clapped the tin
can over it, and dashed back to the grass.
The can trembled violently--and fell over.
"Yours went up!" complained Margy. "Why didn't mine go up, Fred?"
"Practice," her brother returned, but Polly laughed.
"He put more crackers under it, of course," she said. "Look,
Margy--this is the way."
And Polly deftly placed a mound of half a dozen crackers under the can,
touched a fuse with her lighted punk, and let the can slip over the
sputtering pile.
Bang! the can shot to a gratifying height and Margy gazed at her friend
with respect.
"I can do that," she declared. "Let me try it."
So Margy tried again, and then Jess, and finally they all tired of
shooting off firecrackers under a can and turned their attention to
something else.
"Want to see how far I can throw one?" boasted Artie. "Just you watch."
They were on the Marley lawn, and Mrs. Marley had cautioned them not to
throw any of the lighted firecrackers toward the house. So now Artie,
in his best pitching form, hurled a lighted cracker toward the road.
It went further than his fondest hopes encouraged him to expect. That
lighted cracker landed in the middle of the road, beyond the sidewalk.
"Good gracious!" whispered Polly suddenly. "There's Mrs. Pepper's pet
rooster. You don't suppose he will try to eat it, do you?"
"He _is_!" Jess shrieked. "I'm not going to look!" and she put her
hands over her ears as though they would prevent her seeing what might
be going to happen.