Ordinarily, Sam might have thought little of Poke’s mysterious hint,
for Poke’s fancy was lively at times, but the bearing of that well-fed
youth continued to suggest consciousness of a great secret. Now and
then he winked craftily at Sam, or wagged his head portentously, or
shook with glee at thoughts he was not ready to confide to his friends.
Observing which things, Sam meditated and wondered, and gained no clew
to the mystery.
Sam, though, had plenty of other interests to claim his attention.
The Shark, after his outburst at the club, had resumed his manner of
indifference. He neither repeated his criticisms of his mates nor
displayed dislike for Varley, but went his own way in his old fashion.
It was evident, however, that what he had said about the club and the
prize essay had not fallen on wholly deaf ears. Herman Boyd and the
Trojan came to Sam to inquire if he really believed there would be a
chance to carry off the honor, and Tom Orkney put the same question
still more earnestly.
“It does seem as if we ought to have a try at it,” he said. “The Shark
was more than half right about the--the--well, about the ‘laying down’
business. And if you think there’s a show for any of us, it looks as if
the club should get busy.”
“Some of the other crowds talking?” Sam queried shrewdly.
Orkney nodded. “I’d be likeliest to hear it--last fellow in the club,
you know. So I’m told things that might not be said directly to the
rest of you.”
“What sort of things?”
“Well, that the club flocks by itself, and puts on airs, but never
amounts to much when it comes to a pinch; that it never gathers in any
prizes except the mathematical ones, and they’re just the Shark’s meat;
that here’s a big prize we won’t get because no one in the crowd has
the sand to make a fight for it.”
“Exactly!” said Sam. He was quite aware of the jealousies due to
cliques in a school, and more than once had noted some very open
fishing for an invitation to join the Safety First Club. Also, when the
angling had resulted in failure, there had been, generally, an increase
in the unfavorable comment about the club by critics who didn’t belong
to it.
Orkney coughed a little dubiously. “Ahem, ahem! Of course, all that
sort of thing is plain yapping, but, all the same, I’d like to see us
getting into this game. If I could do anything to help--say, though,
I’m no use when it comes to writing. But in digging for facts, I’ll
be ready to hold up my end. And facts are what are going to count.
And there’s nothing to prevent the crowd pulling together--the prize
essay doesn’t have to be one person’s work. Why, two or three of the
girls have teamed up, and make no bones about it. The principal told
’em it was allowable, especially since the person who is putting up
the hundred dollars really wants to get data on the town’s settlement
and early history, and regards this plan as merely a way of securing
assistance he is glad to pay for.”
“Well, then, it’s my notion some of the girls will win,” declared Sam.
“They’re better pluggers--more persistent--than the fellows. Besides,
the composition will count for something--can’t help counting--and
that’s where they’ll do better work.”
“Then you’re against our going in?”
Sam protested. “No; I’m not. Only I don’t think any of us would have a
living chance. But if any of you fellows want to sail in, I’ll wish you
all the good luck there is. Still, short of finding the lost diary of
Dominie Pike----”
“What’s that?” Orkney interrupted. He was comparatively a newcomer, and
still had many of the town’s traditions to learn.
“Dominie Pike was the first minister,” Sam explained. “He came with
the very earliest of the settlers--some people say he himself was the
very first. He kept a diary, and put in it everything of interest that
happened to himself or his neighbors, and all their dealings with the
Indians----”
“Indians?”
“Of course! There was quite a powerful tribe here. Dominie Pike was
great friends with them, and there are lots of stories about that part
of the town’s history--trouble prevented by the Dominie, you know. No
doubt they’re all in the diary, but nobody knows what happened to the
diary. Folks have found many references to it in old letters, showing
that people knew about it, and had read it, or parts of it, anyway.
Then it seemed to disappear. The Historical Society has hunted for it
high and low, but never has got a trace of it.”
Orkney whistled softly. “My! But I wish we could come across it! It
would just fill the bill.”
“It would,” said Sam drily, and left Orkney to meditate ways and means
of accomplishing what so far the town had found to be impossible in the
matter of tracing the lost diary of the old minister.
Their talk, however, had given Sam food for thought. It would be a fine
thing for the club to score in the competition. But, also, it would be
pleasing to find a way to square the account with Varley. Sam, casting
about, hit upon a plan or two, which failed to work out satisfactorily.
His mother listened willingly enough to hints that he would like
to have a party, but showed an inclination to make it a general
entertainment for the girls and boys of his acquaintance, which by no
means met his approval. Sam’s notion of the proper thing was a small
and strictly masculine gathering, at which Varley could be the guest of
honor.
Of Varley, as it happened, he was seeing very little. Paul was
regularly attending school, but he was formally enrolled as a Senior,
and thus seemed to gravitate naturally into association with the
boys of the last year. When he encountered Sam or any of the other
members of the Safety First Club, he appeared to be quite at ease and
untroubled by any thought of the breach he had unwittingly made in
their rules; but Sam noticed--or thought he noticed--a disposition on
Varley’s part not to seek his society, even if there was no effort to
avoid it. He had no doubt that the Shark’s frankness had enlightened
Varley about the club’s ban on uninvited guests; and his respect grew
for a fellow who could “carry it off so well”--as he phrased it--a
situation which Sam himself found most embarrassing.
Poke, meanwhile, was getting a deal of enjoyment out of his mysterious
secret, which, at last, he seemed to have shared with his especial
crony, Step; for the latter, of a sudden, became as excited as Poke
himself. The pair had conferences and conferences, with much chuckling
and whispering and rib-nudging. And then, one day, both came to Sam to
make an amazing announcement.
Poke was in funds. Fortune had made him affluent. He proposed to bid
his friends share his prosperity. Also he proposed to even the score
with Paul Varley.
Sam was practical. Where had the money come from?
Poke explained gleefully. An elderly and well-to-do aunt had made him a
present of twenty-five dollars. By certain miracles of good behavior he
had won parental permission to spend the windfall as he pleased.
“Now I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” Poke went on. “I’m going to
take the whole club and Varley out to the Rainbow Mountain House, and
give ’em a bang-up good dinner. We’ll make it a hike out and back, with
the feed in between. Great notion, eh?”
“Let’s see your cash!” said Sam bluntly.
Poke produced a roll of bills with a flourish. “There! Count ’em if you
want to.”
Sam took advantage of the permission.
“Well, it’s twenty-five, all right,” he admitted, as he returned the
bills.
“Sure it is! And twenty’ll pay for the dinners for the crowd. Oh, I’ve
found out. I’ve been doing a lot of telephoning out to the hotel, and
everything’s arranged for next Saturday.”
“Invited Varley yet?”
“No; I’m waiting to hear what you have to say.”
Sam took thought. “It--it’s a good deal for you to blow in, Poke.”
Poke waved a lordly hand. “Oh, easy come, easy go, Sam. Hang the
expense!”
“You’ve been talking about this?”
“A lot--to Step. He thinks it’s a great idea.”
Sam was not surprised by this information; nor was he greatly
impressed. “I was thinking of your folks.”
“They don’t mind. That part’s all right--honest!”
Still Sam hesitated; noting which, Poke went on, eagerly:
“Come now! You know how the thing is. We ought to do something for
Varley and----”
“That’s so. Only all of us ought to chip in.”
“Nonsense! He did it alone, and I’m going to do it alone. But it’ll
count for the whole club. And we ought to get square with him, hadn’t
we?”
“Y-yes.”
“Then let’s do it!” cried Poke triumphantly. “I’ll ask Varley to-day.
Better, hadn’t I?” he concluded, of a sudden, questioning.
There was a brief pause. Then said Sam, slowly and half-reluctantly:
“Why--why--yes, I guess so.”
“Then it’s as good as done!” quoth Poke, and departed in search of the
proposed guest of honor.
The youthful code is usually simple but exacting. “Pay your debts”
stands close to the head of its list of rules. Instinctively Sam
doubted the success of Poke’s undertaking--things had a way of
happening unexpectedly to Poke. Still, he saw no sound reason for
interfering with the plan to restore the balance between the Safety
First Club and Paul Varley. He would have preferred himself to be the
host, but as that might not be, he yielded the place to his plump
friend.
Varley accepted the invitation. He would be delighted to go to Poke’s
dinner, and he said so.
The attendance of all the club’s members was taken for granted; and all
were promptly at the meeting-place on Saturday morning. The sun was
shining, the air was fine and bracing, and the snow was in excellent
condition. The party set out on the tramp in high spirits, taking a
somewhat roundabout course to the hotel, but passing close to the house
of the injured woodsman. There they halted briefly to make inquiry as
to his condition, and were told that he was convalescing satisfactorily.
They brought noble appetites to the feast, and even the doubtful Sam
was forced to admit to himself that Poke had arranged matters very
well, indeed. A private dining-room was set aside for the youthful
visitors; the quite ample bill of fare had been lengthened with
especial attention to their tastes. Poke beamingly presided at the head
of the table, with Varley at his right and Sam at his left. Poke, in
fact, was having the time of his life, and when the others called upon
him for a speech, he made one willingly enough.
“Tell you, fellows, I’m awfully glad all of you could come,”
said he. “Seemed to me it would be a bully idea to--er--er”--he
paused, of a sudden reminded that one may not eulogize one’s own
hospitality--“er--er--that is, we ought to do something to--er--er--to
break the monotony. Stupidest part of the year, you know. Anything for
a little variety. Of course, I might have done other things, but it
struck me the crowd would like a square meal----”
“Yes, we needed it!” the Trojan put in in a stage whisper.
Poke reddened. “Say, I didn’t mean that, and you know it! All of you
get plenty to eat; so do I. Only we don’t have the chance to eat
together; and I knew this was a cracking good place. So here we are!
And I’d like to know if anybody has anything to say against it?”
“Not a word!” cried the Trojan.
“Go on, Poke!” Herman Boyd encouraged.
“Sure! Give the boy orator his head!” grinned Sam.
“You’ve got ’em going, Poke--don’t let up!” “Hit us again--we haven’t
got any friends!” “My, but isn’t he the silver-tongued spell-binder!”
There was a medley of shouts; Poke shook his fist in mock defiance.
“I haven’t much more to say, and I’ll make short work of it. You
fellows are all right, though you might know a lot more than you do.
Oh, I’m the same way--I admit it. But I know enough to stop when I’m
through. So that’s why I’m going to say again that I’m glad you’re
here, and sit down.”
There was lusty clapping of hands. Then Varley rose, his glass in his
hand.
“I propose,” he said, “the very good health of Poke Green. Long may he
wave!”
They drank the toast in sparkling spring water, and drank it with
enthusiasm. Then there were other toasts to Varley, to Sam, to the rest
of the party; all to the general satisfaction and the especial delight
of Poke. He was beaming more broadly than ever when they filed out
of the dining-room and into the big lobby. There was just a bit of a
swagger in his walk, as he strolled up to the desk, and pulled out his
pocketbook.
The clerk, catching the spirit of the occasion, made a little ceremony
of making out the account and presenting Poke with the receipt. Also he
expressed the hope that the dinner had been to the satisfaction of the
guests.
“It was a corker!” quoth Poke, and thrust his change into a pocket.
Then, perhaps suspecting that he had displayed unsophisticated warmth,
he turned hastily. The tall vase of prismatic glass, which had held his
admiration on his first visit to the hotel, caught his eye.
“Say, isn’t that a peach of a shiner!” he exclaimed to Step, who
happened to be nearest him.
“Eh?” Step appeared to be in doubt of his meaning.
Poke, impatiently and with the awkwardness of embarrassment, under the
clerk’s gaze, threw out a hand.
“Why, there----” he began, but broke off abruptly. The gesture
had been more violent than he realized. His hand struck something
smartly--and the something was the tall shaft of the vase.
“Whew!” he gasped, and made a desperate effort to avert the disaster.
But he was too late.
The vase swayed. Then, seeming to slip through his hands, it fell from
its standard, and striking the floor with a mighty crash was splintered
into a score of pieces.
Step, with a howl of alarm, sprang back. The others came running up to
see what had happened. Poke, though, stood like one rooted to the spot,
staring blankly at the glittering fragments.
The clerk hurried from behind the desk. His expression was serious, but
he spoke quietly, with no raising of his voice.
“It’s too bad. An accident, of course, but an unfortunate one.”
Poke found tongue. “I don’t see how I hit it. I was just trying to
point to it, and bang! I was into it, and it was smashing on the floor!
I never dreamed of--of--of making such a wreck.”
“I presume not,” said the clerk in his quiet fashion. Then with a
change of tone he addressed a bell-boy: “Clear up this mess--at once.”
Instinctively Poke was fumbling in his pocket. “The damage--how much?
If you’ll tell me, I’ll----”
“Oh, there is no hurry,” said the clerk. “I shall have to refer the
whole matter to the proprietor, who is away for a few days.”
“Then I can’t settle it now?”
The corners of the man’s mouth twitched, but his speech was
matter-of-fact.
“No; a case like this must be referred to the proprietor. I’m sure I
don’t know what view he may take of it, or of the--ah--ah--the question
of responsibility. We have your name and address, you understand; he
can communicate with you if he desires to do so.”
“Oh!” said Poke weakly. He was half rejoiced by the delay, half
frightened by the hint of written claim for damages. “Oh! Then there’s
nothing to be done now?”
“Not a thing!” said the clerk crisply; and retired to his place behind
the desk.
Poke turned unhappily to his friends, but none of them had comfort to
offer in this sudden and unfortunate turn in affairs.
“I--I suppose we might as well start for home,” he said drearily. “I--I
guess the sooner we’re out of here, the better.”