OFF FOR WESTFIELD
Whether it was because their trick of putting holes in the Smith boys’
boat did not work, or because they wanted to get even with the brothers
on general principles was not made clear, but certain it was, that a
few days after the closing ball game, Beantoe and Spider made another
attempt to perpetrate something on our heroes.
“This time it will come off all right,” Spider had assured his crony.
“It ought to; we spent time enough on it,” said the stumbling lad. “I
certainly hope it does.”
With much labor and secrecy the two conspirators had made a lot of
sharpened stakes, and tied stout cords to them. They had also prepared
a quantity of molasses and lampblack.
“We’ll wait until they’re in their ‘coop,’ holding a meeting,”
explained Spider. “Then we’ll drive these stakes in the ground at the
foot of the stairs, so they’ll trip over the strings when they rush
down. And if they fall into the lampblack and molasses, we can’t help
it; can we?” he chuckled.
“Of course not,” answered Beantoe, with a malicious grin. “But how are
you going to get them to rush out of the coop?”
“Oh, I’ll show you.”
“And s’pose they catch us at it?”
“I don’t believe they will. It won’t take but a couple of minutes to
stick in the stakes. The ground’s soft and the stakes are sharp. We’ll
work it to-night, for it will be good and dark, and I heard Cap tell
Bateye and Doc. to come over after supper, so they’ll all be there.”
“Good. We’ll get square this time.”
A little later two figures, carrying some stakes and a can, might have
been seen proceeding cautiously toward the Smith homestead. The two
figures did not go boldly up and ring the front door bell. Instead they
sneaked around in the rear where there was an old workshop, which had
been converted by Cap and his brothers into a sort of “coop” or den,
where they held meetings and talked over pet schemes.
Entrance to the coop was obtained by means of an outside stairway,
which led to the second floor, where the meetings were always held, in
a room, the walls of which were hung with bats, masks, fencing foils,
boxing gloves, fishing poles and other trophies dear to boyish hearts.
It was at the foot of this outside stairway, after carefully looking
about to see that they were not observed, that Beantoe and Spider began
thrusting the sharpened stakes into the ground. Then they wound the
stout cord in and out among them, making a maze of string, which, if
anyone ran into unexpectedly in the dark, would be very likely to trip
him up.
“There, now to spread the molasses and lampblack around and give the
alarm,” said Spider, when they had nearly finished their preparations.
“Are you sure they’re up there?” asked Beantoe.
“Pretty sure. You can see the light, and I heard a lot of voices.”
They listened a moment and caught the unmistakable tones of Cap Smith.
“It’s all right,” whispered Spider. “Pour the stuff out, Beantoe.”
“Aw, I don’t wanter. You’d better,” objected the tripping youth.
“I will not! Didn’t I get all the stuff, and stick in most of the
stakes?”
“Well, I sharpened some. Besides, I’m afraid if I pour it I might slip
and fall into it.”
“That’s so, I didn’t think of that,” and as Spider recalled the
unfortunate habit of his crony he took the can of molasses and
lampblack from him, and began making a trail of it all about the foot
of the stairs, walking backwards so as to keep out of it himself.
“I guess that will do,” announced the long-legged lad at length. “Now
we’ll hide back here and watch the fun. I’ll bring ’em out.”
“How?”
“Listen, and you’ll hear.”
Spider drew from his pocket a blank cartridge pistol. Looking as well
as he could in the dark, to observe that his companion was hidden,
Spider fired two shots in the air, and immediately gave a very good
imitation of a dog’s agonized howling.
“They’ll think it’s their dog, Waggles,” whispered Spider, “and they’ll
come out quickly enough.”
His surmise was correct. The door of the coop, at the head of the
outside stairway was suddenly thrown open, and in the glare of light
could be seen Cap Smith standing.
“What is it?” the hidden ones could hear those in the coop asking. “Is
Waggles shot?”
“Can’t be Waggles—he’s here,” answered Cap. “Come back!” he ordered as
the dog, with a whine, started down the stairs.
“But it was some dog,” insisted Pete, coming to the door, and joining
his brother as he peered out into the darkness.
“Sure it was—and two shots. I’m going down to see.”
“I’ll come too,” volunteered Pete.
“I told you I’d get ’em out,” whispered Spider, and Beantoe grunted.
Cap started down the stairs, followed by Pete. Bill together with Doc.
and Bateye came after them.
“Now watch carefully!” whispered Spider, trying not to laugh.
Suddenly Cap uttered an exclamation. He had run into the first string.
He swung about, got tangled in another and went down, for his feet
slipped in the molasses.
“Great Scott!” he cried. “Look out, fellows, there’s something wrong
here! Keep back!”
But his warning came too late. Pete made a jump to help his brother,
and he too went down, sprawling in the sticky stuff.
“It’s glue!” he yelled. “Show a light!”
“What’s the matter?” demanded Bill.
“Get a light,” repeated Sawed-off, as he floundered about.
“Keep back!” yelled Cap.
There was so much confusion that Bill, Doc, and Bateye came down to
see what the trouble was. Then, they too, got tangled in the cords, and
went ingloriously down, the sticky and black stuff getting all over
their clothes, hands and faces.
“Oh wow! This is awful!” panted Cap, as he crawled out, and being now
able to dimly make out the cords and stakes he could avoid them. “It’s
a trick!” he cried.
“Time for us to skip,” murmured Spider who was doubled up with
laughter. “I guess this one works all right; didn’t it Beantoe?”
“It sure did. But come on, or they’ll catch us.”
They started to crawl away. Cap staggered up the stairs and got a
lantern. He came down, and by the light he saw what sorry looking
objects were his brothers and chums.
“Oh, this is fierce!” he wailed.
“You’re a peach!” cried Pete. “Look at him, Bill!”
“We’re _all_ covered with the stuff!” exclaimed Bateye, who looked like
an amateur minstrel.
“Hark!” whispered Cap.
The sound of some one stumbling in the bushes came to the ears of the
brothers. It was the unfortunate companion of Spider, falling down.
“Beantoe Pudder!” cried Cap. “He and Spider did this!”
He made a dash in the direction of the sound. Beantoe got up and tried
to run, but went down again, dragging Spider with him, for the latter’s
long legs got tangled up in a garden rake.
“Come on!” cried Cap to his brothers after a rush as he stood over the
conspirators. “I’ve got ’em both!”
They tried to arise, but Cap pushed Beantoe back, and grabbed Spider.
He knew it would take the stumbling lad some time to get up, and before
he could do so, Pete was on hand, and had made a prisoner of him.
“Both of ’em!” exulted Bill, who came up on the run. “What shall we do
with ’em?”
“Give ’em a dose of their same medicine,” decided Cap grimly. And it
was done.
When the unfortunate Beantoe and Spider were released from the hands
of their enemies they were even sorrier looking objects than were the
Smith boys and their chums. For the work of rolling the conspirators
in the lampblack and molasses had been thoroughly done, whereas our
friends only had some scattered spots on themselves.
“Oh, let us go!” begged Beantoe, “we’ll never do anything to you again!”
“Yes, please let us go, and we’ll always be your friends forever,”
promised Spider eagerly.
“Not much you won’t be our friends!” declared Cap. “We wouldn’t let you
be friends even with our dog, Waggles. Now, fellows, into the ditch
with them, and I guess that will end it.”
“Oh, don’t!” wailed Spider.
“Please don’t!” begged Beantoe. But no heed was paid to their protests,
and into the ditch at the end of the garden they were thrown, from
whence they clambered, dripping with slime, and very much chastened in
spirit.
“But they certainly did put one over us,” admitted Bill, a little
later, as he and his brothers and chums were cleaning themselves off as
best they could.
“Yes, and even though we got back at them, it won’t take the molasses
out of our clothes,” said Pete ruefully.
“Maybe Mrs. Murdock won’t make a fuss!” observed Bill uneasily, and the
housekeeper did, even to the extent of complaining to Mr. Smith.
“Now, boys, this practical joke business has got to stop,” said their
father, when he heard the story next morning. “Spoiling your clothes is
too much.”
“But, dad,” objected Cap, “it was Beantoe and Spider who worked it on
us. We didn’t do it!”
“Well, they wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t done something to them
first.”
“No,” protested Bill, “they were mad because the boat trick didn’t
work.”
“And they tried that scheme on you because of what you did to them at
the fire,” remarked Mr. Smith. “No, boys, it must stop; and to make
sure of it, I’m going to send you away.”
“Send us away?” faltered Cap.
“Yes. It’s the only means by which I can have any peace. I know you
don’t mean any harm, but I never know what is going to happen next.
I have arranged for you to go away to boarding school—the Westfield
Academy, as you know. The term does not open in two weeks, but I can’t
stand this any longer. Mrs. Murdock, help the boys to pack up. I’m
going to send them to school at once, and have them out of the way. I
have been thinking of this, and I wrote to Dr. Burton, president of
Westfield, asking if they could come. He said they might, so get ready
to go, boys.”
Mr. Smith tried to speak severely, but there was a half smile on his
lips. The boys said nothing for a few seconds. Then Cap softly cried:
“Hurrah for Westfield!”
“I’m afraid I haven’t quite made the punishment fit the crime,” said
Mr. Smith softly, as he turned away. “But off you go, boys. You’ll
start to-morrow, and I hope you will like it. You may be a bit lonesome
at first, but it will give you a chance to get acquainted with the
school and grounds before the other students arrive. Now I’ll have a
little quietness,” and Mr. Smith went to his library, while the boys
executed a noiseless war dance.
“Oh, those boys! Those boys!” exclaimed the housekeeper throwing up her
hands hopelessly.
How they managed to get ready on such short notice the brothers hardly
knew, but they accomplished it, and the next afternoon, having bidden
their friends good-bye, they took the train for Westfield Academy, an
institution of learning about one hundred miles away.
“Now remember,” called Mr. Smith after them, “no more practical jokes.”
“That’s right,” promised Cap. “We’re going to play baseball as soon as
the spring season opens.”