BAKED IN A BISCUIT
There wasn't a house in sight; but not far beyond was the inn at
Robinson's Woods, the picnic grounds, and Lance took the management of
the big car while the unconscious chauffeur was rushed ahead by Chet in
the Belding car. The man was put to bed at the inn and a physician sent
for; but Lance agreed to drive the big car himself on to the Sitz place.
When the larger car reached the inn, however, another discovery was
made. Even while the auto had followed its erratic course, untended,
part way down the hill, Purt Sweet had sat tight and merely squealed. He
had not offered to leave his seat.
But now, by the merest chance, he happened to look down at his waist.
The greater part of that beautiful crimson sash had disappeared!
"Wha--wha--what's the matter with me?" gasped Purt. "I--I've lost it!
Who's taken it?"
He bobbed up suddenly and broke the strand that had been, all this time,
winding around and around the wheelbox until there was now a big roll of
it.
"What's the matter with you, Purt?" demanded one of the boys, bursting
with laughter.
"Why--why--somebody's stolen my sash!" wailed the youth. "Did you see
it? Isn't that a mean trick, now?"
The shout that went up from the girls and boys who had been watching the
unraveling process brought the crowd from the first automobile back,
too. Poor Purt looked ruefully at his lost sash, wound around the wheel,
and bemoaned his bad fortune most feelingly. But Lance cut off the ball
of red worsted and threw it in the gutter.
"I really wish you wouldn't be so careless, Purt," he said, as though
the victim were at fault. "Mussing up the whole machine with your fancy
fixin's. Don't you do that any more."
"But, my dear boy, I had no idea of doing it--weally!" exclaimed the
unfortunate Purt. "I don't for the life of me see how that could have
become attached to that wheel."
And as nobody explained the mystery to him, he was in low spirits all
the rest of the way to the farmhouse.
But the preparations at the Sitz farm were likely to raise the spirits
of any boy or girl. In the first place the farmhouse was a very pleasant
old house indeed, and its big grassy yard, with shade trees and vines,
was a delightful spot for an open-air party. Under the grape arbors, now
in full leaf, long tables had been spread, and as soon as the
automobiles arrived Eve called the girls to the back porch to help hull
berries already picked, while Otto, her rather slow-witted brother, took
the boys down to the strawberry patch to help pick more of the fruit.
Purt, who was greedy as could be, "picked into his mouth" until Chet and
the other boys warned him that he'd be so full he would not be able to
do justice to the berries and cream that would come later.
The big kitchen of the farmhouse was a scene of great activity, too.
Mother Sitz, who could scarcely speak a word of English, was happy in
having the girls about, however; and she had made and frosted and
decorated innumerable little cakes such as she had been used to in the
old country. Eve put on a big apron and lent Laura one, and the two set
about making the biscuit and the old-fashioned dough for the
short-cakes.
Laura Belding was fond of Eve for the country girl's own sake; but
loyalty to Central High and Laura's deep interest in school athletics
caused her to cultivate the girl, too. There was a very good district
school which Eve had attended, in which the teacher had brought her
older scholars along to a point that enabled them to take the
examinations for the Junior grade of the city schools. These
examinations were to be held in Centerport within a fortnight, and Laura
wished Eve to come to Central High in the Fall, instead of to the
Keyport High, which was somewhat nearer to the Sitz place.
"You'll have to take train to Keyport, anyway, Eve," urged her friend,
while they were busy making the biscuits. "There is a better train stops
at your station, bound for Centerport; and you can get out at the Hill
Station and then it is only a five-minute walk to our school."
"I know, Laura," said the big girl. "But do you suppose I can pass?"
"Why not?"
"They say that Mr. Sharp is dreadfully _sharp_ on Latin, and that's my
weak point."
"Why, you can cram on Latin in a fortnight. I'll tell you a book to get
that will help--and it costs but fifty cents. You can begin right away
on it----"
"But I haven't got the book yet."
"You've got the fifty cents, haven't you?" returned her friend.
"Yes."
"Then--what time does your rural delivery man go by the end of the
road?"
Eve glanced at the big clock solemnly ticking on the wall.
"In about three-quarters of an hour."
"Run and write your letter to the Keyport bookseller. One of the boys
will run out and give the letter to the mail carrier."
"But a fifty cent piece won't be safe in a letter," said Eve,
doubtfully.
"We--ell----"
"And I haven't time to run out there and stop Mr. Cheever, and make out
a money order--for fifty cents, too!" exclaimed Eve.
"Humph!" ejaculated Laura. "There's fifty ways of sending fifty
cents----"
"Sure," laughed Eve. "A penny at a time!"
"No. I'm not joking. Write your letter. Give me the fifty cents. I'll
find a safe way. Give me the half dollar now. I'll put the biscuits in
the pans. Is the oven hot?"
"Pretty near."
"I'll try it--with one biscuit, anyway," chuckled Laura, seizing the
half dollar her friend gave out of her purse.
In ten minutes Eve came dancing back from her room with the letter
written.
"How you going to send the money, Laura?" she demanded. "Here's the
letter--all ready."
"And the money will be ready in a minute or two. That oven's good and
hot," said Laura.
"What do you mean?" gasped Eve. "You're not baking the half dollar?"
"Yes, ma'am," laughed Laura. "That's what I'm doing."
She dropped the range door and showed a small pan with one lonesome
little biscuit in it.
"It's baking fine, too. I want it to be a hard, crusty one----"
"And you've baked the half dollar in the biscuit!" screamed Eve.
"That's what I've done. You just add a line to your letter to that
effect. Then we'll put the letter and biscuit in that little box, tie it
up, address it, and Lance Darby will run out to the road and mail it for
you. Be quick now," concluded Laura, whisking the pan out of the oven,
"for the half-dollar biscuit is done!'"
"What an original girl you are, Laura," said Eve, doing as she was bid.
"Who'd have thought of _that_ way to send coin in the mail?"
"Your Aunt Laura thought of it," laughed her friend. "For we want
nothing to stand in your way of passing that examination, Eve. We need
you at Central High."