A LEAKY BOAT
The old barn made a good blaze. Beantoe and Spider, tied with their
hands behind them to the fence, could not help but admit that.
“Say, it’s a peach of a fire all right!” exclaimed the long-legged lad,
as he vainly struggled to free himself.
“It sure is! I wonder if they’ll arrest us?”
“Of course not. If they did I guess Bateye and the others would be
square enough to own up to it.”
“I guess so, but maybe the firemen will be mad when they find out about
it.”
“Get out! They’ll only be too glad of a chance to use the new hose.
Besides Cooney Humpville hasn’t used his new trumpet yet. Say, it’s
getting warm all right!”
“Yes, but it won’t be any hotter. It’s at the worst of the blaze now.
Why don’t the firemen come?”
“Here they are!” cried Spider.
From down the highway came a confused sound—shouts and yells mingled
with the galloping of horses and the rumble of the hose wagon.
Up dashed the Freeport fire department, glorious in red shirts and red
helmets, with the red hose wagon in their midst.
“Unreel the hose!” yelled the chief.
“Better take the chemical line in first, Cooney,” suggested one of the
red shirted men.
“Aw, don’t call me Cooney; call me Chief!” begged the head of the
fire-fighters. “I say put the hose on the hydrant and squirt.”
Several men started to do this, but it was found that the nearest fire
plug was farther away than the hose would reach, so it was unavailable
for the fire.
“We’ve got to take the chemical, Cooney!” called another man. “Run the
wagon nearer.”
“Aw, don’t call me Cooney, call me—” but his men did not stay to
listen to his renewed pleading. The horses had been unhitched, and led
away. Willing hands now dragged the wagon closer to the burning barn,
and soon two lines of small hose to carry the chemical stream were
unwound.
“Let her go!” yelled the men in a chorus, and the engineer who operated
the tanks, screwed down the wheel valve that broke the bottle of
sulphuric acid into the solution of soda and water.
Two foamy streams spurted from the hose nozzles, but it was easy to
see that they would have little effect on the blaze. A lot of water
was needed, and that was not available. Still, even though the old
barn burned to the ground no harm could result. There were no other
buildings within an eighth of a mile.
“Look here!” suddenly cried some of the firemen as they neared the
fence, and then they discovered Beantoe and Spider tied to the rails.
“Who did it?”
“How did it happen?”
“Did you see anyone start the fire?”
“How did you get tied up?”
Questions were fired at the two lads, who were soon released. They
looked through the gathering throng for a sight of the Smith boys and
their chums. Beantoe saw Bateye laughing at him.
“There are the fellows who set the barn on fire!” cried the stumbling
lad. “We saw ’em; didn’t we Spider?”
“Sure; and they tied us up,” and, forthwith the tale was related to
such of the firemen and the crowd as would listen. And this was a
goodly number, for it was seen that it was useless to try to save the
barn, and all that could be done was to watch it burn, harmlessly.
“And those Smith boys tied you up?” demanded Chief Humpville, “and
burned the barn?”
“Sure they did,” asserted Bateye. “Them an’ Doc an’ Bateye.”
“Just as likely as not these fellows set the barn, and tied themselves
up,” ventured a fireman, nodding at the captives.
“That’s right; for the Smith brothers, and Bateye ran in and gave the
alarm,” added another.
“Didn’t I tell you how it would be,” wailed Spider. “I knew they’d
blame us.”
The twain protested, even unto tears, that they had no hand in the
prank, and when they related, with much detail, how they had been
surprised and caught the tide turned in their favor.
“You might know those Smith boys would be up to some such game as
this,” remarked Mr. Wright, who kept the feed store. “They ought to be
arrested for arson.”
“That’s right; or else sent away to the reform school,” added Mr.
Henderson, who sold shoes.
“I hear they are going away to school this fall,” declared Mr. Flint, a
retired merchant.
“Well, they can’t go any too soon to suit me,” went on Mr. Wright.
“They’re always doing something—those Smith boys are!”
“But you must admit that they helped get the railroad to come here,”
suggested Mr. Blanchard, the grocer.
“Yes, but they’re like a cow that gives a good pail of milk and then
kicks it over,” asserted Mr. Flint. “But I ain’t going to stay here any
more. The fire’s most out, and I guess it’s a good thing the old barn
went. It was only good for tramps.”
In spite of the usual feeling against the Smith boys this was the
general sentiment, and when Chief Humpville wanted to make a charge of
arson against the lads, he was persuaded not to.
“And so you fellows really did it; eh Bateye?” asked the chief, when
the lad who could see in the dark had admitted his part in the affair,
together with the Smith boys. They did it to clear Beantoe and Spider,
who were deemed guilty by some.
“Sure I did it,” admitted Bateye shamelessly. “Aren’t you glad you had
the run?”
The chief and his men were, but did not want to say so, for their new
helmets and red shirts had been audibly admired, and the new apparatus,
though its chemical streams were not effective against the fire,
because of the start the blaze had acquired, were a source of pride to
the townspeople.
“Ain’t it against the law to set a fire?” demanded the chief, bound to
maintain his dignity.
“Not when you have permission,” asserted Bateye, “and my dad said I
could get rid of the barn any way I liked.”
“Did he say you could burn it?” asked the chief.
“Well, not exactly, but I liked that way better than any other, and so
we did it. I knew nothing could happen, as there wasn’t any wind.”
The chief felt the uselessness of making any comments, especially as
Mr. Jones was in the crowd, and confirmed what his son said.
“But I certainly didn’t know he intended to burn it at night,” said
Bateye’s father, “or I would have prevented him. However it’s done, and
I’m glad the barn is gone. And if the firemen think—”
“Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Jones,” said one of the red-shirts with a
laugh. “We were getting too fat lying around. The run did us good.”
It was not long ere the barn was but a heap of glowing embers and
then the chief, calling hoarsely through his new trumpet, ordered
the apparatus to “take up” though there was little to take up, and
the department slowly went back to headquarters. The crowd followed,
talking excitedly of what had happened.
“I guess you fellows won’t take after us next time; will you?” asked
Cap of Beantoe and Spider, as the two lads passed by.
“Humph! You just wait; that’s all!” threatened Beantoe, vaguely. “We’ll
get square with you yet!”
“That’s what,” added Spider, striding along on his thin legs.
“They’ve got to think up something mighty soon,” said Bill, as he and
his brothers and their chums turned down a street that led to their
homes. “We’re going off to school in about three weeks.”
“Not before the close of the ball season, though; are you?” asked
Bateye anxiously. “We can’t win the championship if you go.”
“Oh, we’ll finish out the season on the nine,” promised Cap. “And I
guess our team will win, if you don’t make any more wild throws.”
“Nary a one,” promised Bateye fervidly.
It was several days before the town got over talking about the fire.
Mr. Smith heard of the part his sons had taken in it, and talked
severely to them.
“Why are you always up to such risky tricks?” he asked.
“This wasn’t risky,” declared Bill in justification.
“We didn’t think it was any harm,” added Pete.
“That’s the trouble. You don’t think enough. You didn’t think the time
you started the runaway handcar, and you remember what happened. Now be
more careful.”
They promised, and Mr. Smith, who was a very busy man, sighed and
wished the boys would settle down and be less playful.
“Maybe when they get to the Academy, life there will help to settle
them,” he said with a shake of his head. Whether it did or not we shall
soon see.
Meanwhile Beantoe and Spider were racking their brains for some plan to
get even with the Smith boys and their friends.
“I don’t care so much for Bateye and Doc. and Norton,” said Beantoe,
“but I would like to play a trick on Pete and his brothers.”
“I’ll see if I can’t think of one,” promised Spider. A few days later
he came to his crony with joy written on his face. “I think we have
them,” he said exultingly. “There’s a chance to put one over the Smith
boys.”
“How?”
“Come along, and I’ll show you. They’re going out fishing. I just saw
Bill down to the hardware store buying some hooks, and I heard him tell
Bateye they were going down past the swimming hole.”
“Well, what’s the answer.”
“We’ll stop at my house, get an auger and a loaf of bread, and I’ll
tell you on the way.”
“What’s the auger and bread for?”
“I’ll show you. Come on. I want to get to their boat before they
arrive. Then we’ll hide and see some fun.”
A little later Beantoe and Spider stole cautiously to the Smith boys’
boat house on the banks of the Waydell river.
“You keep watch, and I’ll bore the holes in the boat,” suggested
Spider. “It won’t take long.”
He was soon busy with the auger, and then his crony understood.
“I see!” he exclaimed. “You’re going to make holes in the boat, and
then when they’re out fishing, it will sink!”
“Sure! You’re a regular detective,” said Spider, boring away while
Beantoe watched.
“But won’t the water come in as soon as they start out, and won’t they
get on to the trick,” asked the stumbling lad after thinking it over.
“That’s where the bread comes in,” explained his friend. “I’ll make a
lot of holes, and stuff them up with bread. Then I’ll smear dirt over
the bread and it won’t show. It will stay in the holes until Bill and
the others get out in the middle of the river and then it will soak up,
and come out. The boat will leak like a sieve, and they’ll have to swim
ashore.”
Spider worked industrially, and soon had a number of holes in the
bottom of the fishing skiff. The holes were well plugged with bread,
and smeared over so that they did not show.
“Here they come!” suddenly warned Beantoe.
“Well, I’m done!”
Spider threw away what remained of the bread, put the auger under his
coat, scattered to one side the pieces of wood that had resulted from
the boring, and then he and his companion made a dash for the bushes,
just as the three Smith brothers came in sight, with their fishing rods
over their shoulders.
“Looks like a good day for bites,” remarked Pete, as he got in the
stern of the boat.
“Sure,” agreed Bill, pausing on the bank to see if he had all his
tackle.
“Get in, Bill, and I’ll shove off,” proposed John, for the boat was
drawn partly up on shore.
“Now watch the fun,” whispered Spider to Beantoe, as they peered from
the bushes, and saw the boat being rowed toward the middle of the deep
river.
“Maybe they’ll be drowned,” suggested Beantoe rather frightened.
“Those fellows? Naw! They can swim like fishes, but their clothes will
get wet, and it’ll serve ’em right for the way they treated us at the
fire.”
“How soon before the boat will begin to leak?”
“It ought to in a few minutes now. Gee whillikins! But I’m glad I
thought of that trick! Won’t they be surprised when the water comes
rushing in?”
“They sure will,” and then the two cronies eagerly watched the Smith
boys, who, all unconscious of the fate in store for them, were rowing
down toward the fishing grounds.