“I tell you, it’s the only way. Don’t you suppose I’ve figured and
figured on what to do? Well, I have; and there’s just one answer. I
can’t dodge it, and I won’t try. I’ve got to pay up, and I will pay
up--somehow.”
Poke said it bravely enough and determinedly--all except the last word.
The “somehow” came after a little pause, and dragged at that.
“But you can’t!” blurted the Trojan. “You’ve just told us you couldn’t
raise the money.”
Poke had his back against the wall of the sugar camp; literally and
figuratively he was like one making a last stand.
“But I’ve got to raise it--somehow.” Again there was the brief pause;
again there was a catch in his voice. “I’m responsible; I smashed that
vase. I didn’t mean to smash it, but that makes no difference.”
“Umph! I’m not so sure of that,” objected the Trojan.
“That’s what I say, too,” Step put in. “Seems as if there ought to be
some way----”
“What! To wriggle out of it?” Poke demanded indignantly.
“Why--why--I--I wouldn’t exactly----”
“It’s what you meant, all the same.”
“No; ’tisn’t!” Step insisted.
“Well, then, what did you mean?”
“Why, I--well, it’s sort of hard to put into words, but----”
“Yes; I guess it is hard,” Poke interrupted.
Then Sam Parker stepped forward. He had not been taking a very active
part in the discussion, but had been listening intently.
“Hold on, fellows!” said he. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. I suppose
we had to talk this thing out, but now we’ve done it. All hands know
what’s happened to Poke and why he’s so down in the mouth. We’re sorry
for him, every one of us, but there’s no use crying over spilt milk or
broken vases; and so----”
“Hey! Who’s crying?” Poke protested.
“Oh, that’s just a figure of speech,” said Sam. “Forget it, Poke!
Let’s get down to business, everybody. Now, I’m not so all-fired sure
Poke really ought to pay all that money. The vase ought to have been
in a safer place, if it was so valuable. And I think that’s Varley’s
notion, too; and he’s sort of posted, as you might say, about a lot of
things.”
“Oh, Varley!” exclaimed Poke, and glanced about him a little
apprehensively.
“Varley’s out of the way,” Sam went on. “I guess he understood the club
would want a chance to hold a council of war, for he could see that
something had gone wrong, even if he didn’t know just what it was.”
“The Shark’s missing, too,” Herman Boyd remarked.
Sam nodded. “So he is. Probably they’ve strolled off together. That’s
all right, though. The Shark will stand for anything the rest of us
decide to do. It’s a job for all the club, of course, and----”
“How do you make that out?” Poke asked.
“Easily enough. You broke the vase--that’s true. But you wouldn’t have
broken it, for you wouldn’t have been at the hotel or giving a dinner
if it hadn’t been that you wanted to square the club’s account with
Varley.”
“Now you’re talking sense, Sam!” cried the Trojan.
“I know I am. And it’s only sensible for us to treat this thing as
hitting the whole club.... That’s all right, Poke! You can say it
hit you first, but we feel it hit us afterward. So we ought to pull
together, and we will. Now if we all chip in----”
“I can put in ten dollars,” said Tom Orkney promptly.
“Gee! Wish I could do as well!” cried Herman Boyd. “Maybe, though, I
can scrape together five or six dollars. I’ve sort of run ahead of my
allowance, or I’d promise more.”
“I’m in the same box with Herman,” the Trojan declared.
Step coughed uneasily. As the especial crony of Poke, he really should
be taking a leading part in these measures of financial relief.
“Ahem, ahem! I--I--er--er--course you fellows know where I stand. And
I’d give my eye-teeth to help Poke out of the scrape. But it just
happens I’m awfully short of cash. But I tell you what I’ll do: I’ll
subscribe as much as the next fellow, and I’ll put it in, if only I can
borrow it somewhere.”
“All right,” said Sam hastily, and shook his head warningly at the
Trojan who was beginning to grin.
Again Step cleared his throat. “Ahem! Poke’s folks don’t want to hear
about this, you understand--that is, we don’t want ’em to hear about
it. You see, what with one thing and another lately--well, things have
been breaking mighty badly for Poke at the house--things that weren’t
really his fault, if you’d look at ’em right, but that just kept piling
up on him. And so--well, this isn’t any time for more bad news to
arrive.”
“I should say not!” groaned Poke soulfully.
Sam had been doing some mental arithmetic. “Look here, everybody! With
what I can chip in, and what the Shark’ll do, I feel sure we can raise
sixty or seventy dollars. That ought to be enough for sort of a first
payment.”
“But I ought to make the payment,” Poke insisted.
“You can’t,” Sam told him bluntly. “That’s why we’re going to help you.
And we’ll gain a little time for you to look around and scheme out ways
to get the rest of the money.”
In spite of this prospect of problems to come the face of Poke
brightened a trifle. But it quickly clouded again.
“Oh, I say, you fellows!” Poke said sharply. “I’m ready to take help
from any of you, or from all of you--as a loan, of course; I’ll pay you
back--but Varley must be kept out of this! It--it isn’t his funeral.”
“Right-o!” Sam agreed.
“No; this is our party--he’s an outsider!” chimed in the Trojan.
The others nodded approval. Here was a matter purely for the Safety
First Club.
“Then we’ll call so much settled,” quoth Sam. “But, talking about
Varley, where is he?” He peered hard at the grove of maples, and turned
again to his companions. “I haven’t a notion where he can be, or the
Shark, either.”
“Oh, I guess they’ll turn up soon enough,” said Step. “Nowhere else for
them to go, is there?”
“Not in this rain.”
“Rain!” The Trojan caught at the word. “Rain! Sam, you’ve said it! It’s
coming down, good and plenty. And ain’t it funny we were all so busy
with Poke’s affairs that we didn’t notice it?”
This was quite true. So absorbed had the club been that no heed had
been paid by any of the boys to the steady increase in the rain.
Again Sam glanced about. “I don’t believe we ought to stay here any
longer. It’s going to be a job to get back to town, and we ought to be
making a start.”
As if in answer to a call, Mr. Grant came out of the camp.
“Whew! but this is getting to be a reg’lar wet spell,” he remarked.
“And I don’t see any signs of a let-up. Too bad you boys should strike
such a day to visit Sugar Valley!”
“We’re sorry, too, sir,” Sam assured him.
Mr. Grant looked the group over. “Let’s see! All here, are you?... No;
must be two-three missing. What’s become of that little chap with the
glasses and the other fellow who wanted to know all about sugar making?”
“They must have gone back, sir.”
“Umph! Don’t know but they did the sensible thing. I hadn’t realized
how it was getting to rain.”
“We didn’t notice, either. And as for Varley and the Shark--that’s our
nickname for the fellow with the glasses, you know--I suppose they must
have started for the house?”
Sam made his statement more than half a question. Mr. Grant treated it
as one.
“Yes, I guess they must have. They’d looked around here, and there
ain’t much to see except the camp. Yes; I dare say they’re toasting
their shins by the fire this minute. And I reckon we might as well
follow ’em.”
Nobody was disposed to delay; nor, for that matter, was there any
lingering on the way to the farmhouse. Heads bowed to the storm,
collars turned high, hands buried in pockets, the party splashed across
the fields with Mr. Grant in the lead.
Mrs. Grant was ready to receive them. She took absolute command the
moment they entered the door.
“Get out of your wet things this instant, every one of you!” she
ordered. “Hannah, you take the overcoats and hang ’em up by the kitchen
stove. And you boys, you get over by the living-room fire. Mercy me!
but you’re as sopping wet as our old cat was the day he fell into the
cistern. And don’t be afraid to take off your shoes and dry ’em--wet
feet’s the worst thing that can happen; and I’m not going to have your
mothers think I let company manners help give you all colds. Yes, and
don’t be bashful about pulling off your socks if the water got through
to ’em. And Hannah, oh, Hannah! Run up-stairs and bring down some of
Mr. Grant’s socks--bring enough to go ’round. They’ll be a mite roomy,
maybe, but that won’t matter. And bring along all the slippers you
happen to see.... Eh, eh? What’s that, now?” Sam had put a somewhat
anxious inquiry when the lady paused an instant for breath. “The
others, you say? Aren’t they here? No, they’re not. But which ones do
you mean? Let’s see! Let me take tally.... Oh, I see now. You mean
that queer little one I thought was looking for dust on the map, and
the other boy--the nice, polite one--not that you aren’t all polite, of
course!” she concluded hastily.
Sam’s face lengthened. “We missed them,” he explained, “but supposed,
of course, they’d started back together.”
Mrs. Grant shook her head vigorously. “If they started, they didn’t
get here. And that’s funny, too; for how could they miss the path? But
don’t you worry! They’ll come straggling in pretty soon, I warrant you.
And they couldn’t come to much harm anywhere in Sugar Valley. So just
you sit down and make yourself comfortable while you wait for ’em.” And
she gave Sam a friendly push toward the fire.
Sam drew his chair close to the hearth, where most of the other
boys already had taken their places. Both the light and warmth from
the blazing logs were cheering, and the spirits of the party were
improving rapidly. Thanks to heavy outer jackets, and high overshoes,
they had come through their experience better than anybody unused
to rough weather outfits might have supposed to be possible; but it
was comforting, nevertheless, to toast for a little before the fire.
Then Mrs. Grant, who had her own theories as to the wants and tastes
of boys, brought in a huge dish of doughnuts and another of crullers,
while Hannah bore a great pitcher of lemonade.
“Just a snack, you know,” the hostess declared. “A bite or two to tide
you over and take away that tired feeling.”
In view of the tremendous dinner, this luncheon might have been thought
a little premature, but every member of the Safety First Club then
present helped himself to a doughnut or cruller, and did this most
willingly. Poke, in spite of his sorrows, especially distinguished
himself; but even Sam was no laggard in performance. Still, his sense
of responsibility for all of the party wasn’t dulled.
The rain was falling more heavily than ever--of this he could be sure
from its beating on the windows. Mrs. Grant, too, was observant of the
weather.
“Boys,” she declared, “you can’t drive back to town this afternoon in
that open sleigh. Why, you’d be drowned out! I just won’t let you go.
Be no trouble to take care of you over night. My, but this old house
has room enough for as many more, and then a few extras.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but I think we’d better go back,” said Sam.
“Fiddlesticks and fiddledeedee! ’Twon’t make a mite of bother to us to
keep you over night. And I vow I just thought of it! I want you to stay
and try Hannah’s waffles for breakfast--waffles with maple syrup, of
course.”
At that Poke sighed, audibly and longingly. Step grinned, and the
Trojan laughed outright. Sam, though, was serious.
“We really ought to be starting. If only those other fellows were
here---- But how does it look, Lon? Any signs of clearing up?”
Lon, who had just returned from a weather observation from the porch,
shook his head.
“No; closin’ in thicker’n ever. And rainin’ to beat the cars!”
“What did I tell you!” cried Mrs. Grant triumphantly. “Of course you’ll
stay here all night. The traveling now would be awful.”
“Wal, ma’am, that depends on what you’re used to,” Lon remarked
calmly. “Old Noah, now, he might say this was jest layin’ the dust
nice and comfortable. Or a hornpout might call it pretty fair goin’.
But for folks that ain’t had sich advantages of experience or nat’ral
capacity--wal, I guess it’s safe to figger they would call the
travelin’ jest about awful, as you was sayin’, ma’am.”
“But we ought to go back,” Sam insisted.
“Yes; I reckon we ought,” Lon agreed, but with no heartiness.
“Nonsense!” declared Mrs. Grant.
Sam went to a window, and peered out. He saw nothing to cheer him, and
turned back, with an anxious frown on his face.
“What in the world can be keeping Varley and the Shark? And where can
they have strayed?”
“Oh, they ought to be along presently,” Mrs. Grant comforted. “Two
able-bodied, wide-awake boys won’t come to harm in Sugar Valley.”
“No, ma’am,” said Sam mechanically, but his expression of anxiety did
not lessen. The afternoon was wearing away. In an hour or two more the
light, not too strong now, would be fading; and the night promised to
be as black as one’s hat. And, meanwhile, the Shark and Varley ought to
be turning up!
“They won’t come to harm,” Mrs. Grant repeated emphatically. “But, all
the same, they ought to be here. Just wait a minute, though.”
Out of the room she hurried, and, presently, there was the call of a
telephone bell from the hall. Sam impatiently awaited the results.
There was a considerable delay. Evidently Mrs. Grant was talking with
more than one of her neighbors over the wire.
When she came back to the living-room, her expression bore a trace of
perplexity.
“I do declare, but it’s amazing queer! Nobody, up the road or down, has
seen anything, or heard anything, of those two boys. And I did suppose
that they’d put in somewhere, to wait for a let-up in the rain. But
everybody along here is on the line, and I’ve called ’em all, and
nothing comes of it.”
Sam glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid something’s gone wrong,” he said.
“Varley’s sort of a tenderfoot, and the Shark--well, he’s posted well
enough, but he’s as likely as not to get to figuring on something, and
then how can you tell what he’d do, or not do?”
Step spoke sharply. “Say, there’s the river! It must be high, and if
either or both of them fell in----”
He had no need to finish the sentence. Mrs. Grant uttered an
exclamation; the boys moved uneasily; even Lon seemed to be impressed
by the suggestion.
“Great Scott, but we’d ought to thought o’ that sooner! Any boys is
footless, sometimes, and if you’d tried to pair up a queer mated
couple, you couldn’t ’a’ picked a more uncertain combination o’
performers than the Shark and that Varley lad’d make.”
“That--that’s so, Lon,” Sam agreed heavily.
Mrs. Grant took the floor again. “Don’t get flustered! I’ve got an
idea. Wait, everybody, till I see how it can be worked.”
Once more she hurried into the hall, and again there were sounds to
indicate that she was busy at the telephone. Ten minutes passed--and to
Sam they seemed to be very dragging minutes--before she returned, and
addressed him.
“Well, I’ve made a good beginning on the idea, all right. I’ve called
up your folks in town, young man, and I’ve had a talk with your mother.
She understood things--I knew she would, for I guess she’s a good,
sensible woman, seeing the sort of son she’s got. And she saw at once
what an awful trip back you’d have. And she said I could keep you over
night, and she’d call up all the other mothers and let ’em know you
were all right. And so that part of it’s fixed. Now we come to the next
part. You’re so uneasy about those strayaways that you’d be hopping
around like corn in a popper if you couldn’t go hunting ’em. And I
guess I’d be hopping, too, if you weren’t trying to find ’em. For they
ought to have shown up long ago. And with Mr. Grant to help, and the
hired man--why, we ought to be able to know something mighty quick. So,
if that’s your idea, too, and if you’re ready----”
“If!” Sam shouted, and sprang to his feet. “If? Why, ma’am, I’ve been
aching to go for the last hour!”
“Well, I guess you ain’t lonesome in that,” said Mrs. Grant briskly.
The other boys, and Lon and Mr. Grant, for that matter, had risen
almost as quickly as Sam himself.
Mrs. Grant looked the group over, and nodded approvingly.
“No; there ain’t a lagger in the lot,” she said with conviction. “And
there’s just one thing I don’t like about it; and that is that Hannah
and I can’t go along with you.”