Sam had taken for granted that there would be no parental objections to
the expedition, and in this he found himself a true prophet.
Mr. Parker not only agreed to the plan, but also showed approval of it.
“A little outing will be good for you, Sam,” said he. “You’ve been
attending pretty strictly to business lately, and it’s time for a
break in the routine. By the way, your good conduct marks ought to be
mounting up handsomely.”
Sam laughed. “Well, sir, I haven’t seemed to have many chances to get
into trouble.”
“Haven’t looked for them very anxiously, have you?”
Sam’s eye met his father’s, and a trace of red showed in the boy’s
cheek.
“Safety first, sir!” he said. “You know I’ve had that lesson taught me
mighty thoroughly.”
Mr. Parker studied his son closely for a moment.
“So? Well, I’m glad to hear the instruction hasn’t been wasted.... But,
tell me! Find life robbed of a little of its spice, eh?”
Sam paused for thought before he answered; the question was not one
he could dispose of lightly, especially when it had been put by his
father. There was a very good understanding between father and son, but
it had not been arrived at without some grievous experiences for the
youth. On that account he prized it the more, and desired to maintain
it.
“Sometimes it does seem as if a fellow missed some fun, sir. I don’t
know, though--mostly, afterward, I can figure out that everybody is
better off because the thing wasn’t done--the thing that seemed to
promise sport, I mean.”
“But there are other things that promise sport, and supply it, and harm
nobody, aren’t there?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And you’re beginning to discriminate?”
Sam wriggled; he was by no means over-impressed with his own sagacity.
“Why--why, I try to discriminate--that’s the very secret of our Safety
First idea, isn’t it? Of course, I make bulls--mistakes, I mean--a lot
of them.”
“Then what?”
“I try not to repeat them,” said Sam simply. “I don’t know any better
rule.”
“There is none,” said his father decidedly. “And, on the whole, you’ll
find that if you follow the rule, it still leaves plenty of good, clean
fun in life as well as a reasonable share of adventure. Not that I
imagine you’ll run across much of the latter in Sugar Valley, though!”
“It isn’t very likely,” said Sam.
“Well, Lon can drive you over,” said his father. “The big sleigh will
take you all in. I’ll guarantee it, though I won’t do as much for the
sleighing. The snow has lasted unusually long, but the season is now so
late that if it once begins to go, it will go very fast.”
“But there’s such a lot of it,” Sam objected.
“There is an uncommon amount--that’s true. I’ve seen late spring thaws,
though, when the greater the depth of snow, the faster it seemed to
vanish. Still, with the amount we now have, it would need fast work to
clear the ground before Friday.”
“That’s my notion, too, sir,” said Sam, half regretfully. The truth
was, he was in two minds about the expedition. Considering only his own
preferences, he might have chosen to stay at home; but there was Varley
to be taken into account, and Varley undoubtedly was very desirous of
seeing Sugar Valley. The boys of the club, too, would like to go. All
of them said so, at once and emphatically. So Sam held conference with
Lon Gates, who readily promised to have the big sleigh ready; though he
was far from an optimist when the subject of the weather was broached.
“Take it this time o’ year, Sam,” he explained, “and guessin’ on that’s
like buyin’ a pig in a poke, only more so. You see, everything’s
betwixt and between, same’s butter that ain’t quite made up its mind
whether to come or not. And all the signs are mixed and confusin’.
Why, jest t’other day I heard two of the oldest inhabitants squabblin’
over whether the groundhog really see his shadow Candlemas day; and
’sfar’s I can find out the most reliable goose-bones in town are
actin’ every which way except alike. But if you insist on havin’ my
forecast, personal-like, I’m votin’ for a change in weather. I’ve got a
rheumaticky spot or two that’s been tunin’ up lately; and there was a
mighty funny lookin’ sunset t’other night. Still, nobody can tell. And
if you’ll be ready for me Friday, I’ll be ready for you.”
Sam, thus advised, tried to study the weather signs for himself.
Thursday dawned mild and calm, with a thin haze in the air and a marked
rise in temperature. The eaves were dripping briskly when he started
for school, and when he came home for dinner, the snow layer seemed to
have shrunk amazingly. Where foot travel was greatest the sidewalks
showed black and bare; puddles formed in low places; the compacted and
leveled track of the sleighs grew dingier than ever. Throughout the
afternoon the same conditions held, until with the coming of darkness
the temperature dropped a trifle, and a thin coating of ice formed on
the little ponds of snow-water.
“Umph! What did I tell you? Weather breeder!” was Lon’s oracular
speech, when Sam sought his opinion of the probabilities for the
morrow. But even Lon declined to commit himself on the sort of weather
which might be expected. So Sam went to bed little the wiser, and woke
to find another day seemingly much like that which had gone before,
still, warm and hazy, with the eaves dripping more merrily than ever,
the puddles bigger and deeper, and the streets coated with a slush,
peculiarly damp and chilling in its effect on shoe-leather.
Sam splashed to school, to find that news of his party had reached
the principal, and had won an unexpected favor--excuses for all hands
from attendance for the last period of the day. The boon, it appeared,
had been secured by the Shark, who stood high in the esteem of the
head of the school, himself a member of the mathematically inclined
brotherhood. It was thus possible to make an earlier start than had
been proposed for Sugar Valley. Lon, called up by telephone, was
agreeable to the change.
“Sure I’ll be glad to get away,” he declared. “Quicker I go, less I’ll
be wonderin’ if I ain’t a howlin’ idiot not to start on wheels instead
o’ runners.”
“Then you think----”
Lon cut short the inquiry over the wire. “I think it’s the breakin’ up
of a hard winter, son. And that’s all I’m capable o’ thinkin’ at once.
Now, you’d better get busy--I’ve got to.”
Excused a little before noon, the boys hurried home for final
preparations for their outing. Sam found Lon ready for him. He climbed
into the sleigh, and off they went, stopping first to pick up Varley,
and then the Shark. Next they added Tom Orkney, Herman Boyd and the
Trojan to the party, which now lacked only Poke and Step.
“Try Step’s house first,” Sam suggested.
Lon nodded, and chirruped to his horses, which broke into a brisk
trot, with much splashing of water from the puddles along the way.
The sleighing certainly was going fast, but so great had been the
accumulation of snow that it promised to last out the day, at least.
“Say, Lon, why didn’t you bring a boat?” the Trojan queried, as
something very like a dash of spray shot over the side of the sleigh.
“Huh! Ark’d been nearer the bill, seein’ the kind o’ load I’m
freightin’,” Lon responded promptly.
“I guess we’ll find the brooks high,” Herman Boyd put in.
“Bankful and brimmin’ over,” quoth Lon. “Maybe you fellows will have to
get out and wade before we get back.”
“Well, we’ll risk it,” cried Herman cheerfully.
They turned a corner, and drew up before the Jones house. Nobody was in
sight about the premises.
Sam raised a lusty hail. “Oh, you Step! Hi there! Hurry up!”
There was no response. Sam called again, still more loudly. The Trojan
had the knack of putting his knuckles to his mouth and emitting a
peculiarly shrill and penetrating whistle. He blew it now, quite
without result. Then the crowd shouted in chorus.
The kitchen door opened. A woman looked out. She waved a hand toward
the club-house, which, as has been explained, stood in a corner of the
yard.
“What the mischief----” Sam began, but cut short his speech, and sprang
to the ground. Orkney followed him. One or two of the others were about
to imitate the example, but Sam waved them back.
“No; two of us are enough,” he said. “I can’t guess what’s happened,
but something has. Orkney and I’ll find out. Come along, Tom!”
They hurried up the path to the club-house. The door was ajar. Sam, by
this time puzzled and a bit alarmed, pushed it open, and looked in,
Orkney peering over his shoulder.
Both Step and Poke were in the room. They were facing each other,
though neither appeared to be looking at the other. Poke was slumped on
a lounge in an attitude of utter dejection, but Step might have posed
for a picture of absolute woe.
At that moment even a stranger would have understood how Clarence
Jones came by his nickname; for beyond denial he strongly suggested a
step-ladder, and a step-ladder folded hastily. As he had picked out the
lowest chair in the room, his knees seemed to rise to a level with his
ears, while his long arms dangled till his hands rested limply on the
floor. His head sagged upon his breast. His lips were moving, and from
them came mournful sounds.
“Brace up, Poke!... Oh, brace up, I say!... Pull yourself together!...
It’s certainly awful, but br-brace up, I tell you!”
Never was there more doleful encouragement; but it served, at least,
to give Sam some clew to the mystery. It was Poke who was in trouble.
Convinced of this, at least, he stepped into the room, and laid a hand
on Poke’s shoulder.
“Well, what’s the row?” he demanded. “Must be a big one to keep you two
from hearing the racket we raised outside.”
Poke slowly raised his head. He stared at Sam, vaguely, blankly. It was
Step who spoke.
“You--you brace up, Poke! And you--you go away, Sam!... But don’t you
let it knock you out, Poke! Be a man!”
Sam turned to him. “If you’re going to do the talking, talk sense!” he
said sharply.
Step waved his long arms tragically.
“Sam, the worst has happened! Poke’s got a letter!”
“Well, what of it?” Sam asked sharply.
“What of it! Why, when I came along just now he had it.”
“Of course he’d have it, if he’d got it. Don’t be an idiot!”
Step’s arms dropped rather more tragically than they had been raised.
“It--it’s spoiled everything for him. And I don’t wonder. But I was
trying to cheer him up when you came blundering in.”
“Queer cheering!” growled Sam. “And much good you were doing him! Now
cut this foolishness and come along, both of you. The crowd’s waiting
outside with Lon, and it’s time we were starting.”
Poke broke his silence at that. “Oh, I can’t go!” he groaned. “I--I’d
have no heart for it.”
“Shucks! It’ll do you all the more good.”
“Nothing can do him good,” croaked Step; then added, rather
contradictorily, if with the best of intention: “Brace up, Poke! Pull
yourself together! Nev--never say die!”
Sam glanced from one to the other. Step and Poke were close chums; the
sorrows of one were generally shared by the other. He was satisfied
that the present trouble was really serious, though, as it happened,
it did not occur to him to hit upon a clew to the mystery by recalling
Poke’s mishap with the big vase. To tell the truth, that incident had
rather slipped his mind with the passage of time. Now, though, studying
Poke, he observed a crumpled sheet of paper clutched in his hand.
Sam bent down. By the exertion of some force he took possession of the
paper, Poke resisting feebly. Smoothing the sheet, he ran his eye down
the typewritten page. And, as he read, he whistled shrilly.
The letter was from the Rainbow Mountain House. It was signed by the
proprietor himself. Its tone was formal and businesslike.
The writer explained the delay by the time which had been found
necessary to learn the cost of replacing the vase. This point had now
been established.
“‘We find that a duplicate can be obtained, and invite your early
attention to the matter,’” Sam read aloud. “‘The expense will be $175.’”
Orkney echoed Sam’s whistle. Poke groaned weakly. Step tore his hair.
“One hundred and seventy-five dollars!” Sam said very slowly. “‘We
invite your early attention to the matter!’ Wow, but that--that’s a
sockdologer!”
“He can’t pay it!” cried Orkney. “It’s too much. And if the thing was
worth so much, it ought to have been kept where it would be safe.”
“That’s true,” Sam agreed.
Poke shook his head sadly. “I’ve got to pay--I said I would.”
“But you can’t raise the money. The whole club couldn’t raise it.”
[Illustration: “YOU CAN’T RAISE THE MONEY”]
“It isn’t the club’s job--it’s mine.”
“Nonsense. All of us were at the dinner.”
“But all of you didn’t smash the vase. I did that myself.”
“And he hates to let his folks know,” Step explained in a stage
whisper. “You see, things have been--er--er--they’ve been kind
of piling up on him lately, and his folks--well, they’re getting
prejudiced.”
“I see,” said Sam soberly. Then he paused, and took thought. “Look
here, Poke!” he went on. “You, too, Step! I suppose that letter came
to-day.”
“Yes, he found it when he came home from school,” Step declared.
“Well, it doesn’t have to be answered to-day. You fellows have got to
come along with the rest of us.”
“Oh, I couldn’t!”
“Oh, we can’t!”
Poke and Step both cried out in protest. Sam’s face grew determined.
“You’ll guess again about that! This is a thing we’re all in, and the
trip will give us a chance to talk it over. And getting out will do
both of you a lot of good.”
“But, Sam, there’d be no fun for us,” Step argued. “We’d just be wet
blankets on the crowd and----”
Now and then a leader has to assert his leadership. Sam had not been
head of the Safety First Club without learning some of the secrets of
mastery. He shot a meaning glance at Tom Orkney, who understood, and
nodded approval.
“Tend to Step, Tom,” Sam said curtly. Then he himself caught Poke’s
collar, dragged that youth to his feet, and propelled him toward the
door. Close behind him came Orkney, hauling along the struggling Step
and paying no attention to his vociferous objections. And so down the
path moved the little procession, to the edification and amazement of
Lon and Varley, and the other members of the club, thus recruited to
its full strength for the expedition to Sugar Valley.