Plainville was on the last day of the nine traditionally allotted to
discussion of affairs of high interest or importance.
The town had been stirred by the story of the adventures of Sam and
his friends, and the boys, a good deal to their surprise, had found
themselves treated like heroes. Plainville had had a taste of the big
storm--huge drifts still rose in many places--and was ready to give
full credit for plucky endurance of the hardships, both of the club’s
wanderings to the old Calleck house and of the forced march of Sam and
Orkney to the settlements; while the dash of a rescue party to the
stone house and its return with the other members of the club, and Lon
and the stricken Peter Groche, formed another chapter which caught the
public fancy.
Groche was still in Coreytown, under treatment by doctors and guard
by officers. The event proved that he had not been shamming that night
when Lon watched him with suspicious eye. A very sick man, indeed, was
Peter for a few days; but now tidings had come that, thanks to a rugged
frame and a vigorous constitution, he was beginning to rally, with
every prospect that, presently, he would be well enough to stand trial
on the very grave charge of arson. Some doubt was expressed, to be
sure, of his mental condition; but the chances were strongly in favor
of his retirement behind the walls either of prison or asylum. At all
events, Plainville heartily endorsed the opinion of Major Bates, and
counted itself well rid of its least desirable citizen.
The Major, it is to be related, took keen delight in Sam’s version
of the happenings in the woods, and learning, incidentally, that
the secret of his wounds had become public property--at least, the
property of the club--invited the boys to dinner, in order, as he
explained, that he might present his side of the case. For the club it
was an occasion of impressive state and ceremony, but the Major was
a delightful host, quickly put them at their ease, told lively tales
of war and peace, and finally made a speech which brought out three
rousing cheers for Sam Parker and three times three for the orator.
Tom Orkney was at the dinner. The Major invited him, along with the
rest and quite as a matter of course. And Tom, though his manner was
reserved, didn’t fail to enter into the spirit of the occasion.
To tell the truth, his reception, in general, had been beyond his
expectations. Had he been older and more experienced, he might better
have understood that little heed is given to an old story when a new
story is being told. Tom Orkney, runaway, was an old story; Tom Orkney,
joint adventurer with the club, was a new story. Moreover, Little
Perrine had been singing his praises, and Sam and his friends were
losing no opportunity to proclaim his pluck and grit. So, when school
opened after the holidays, Orkney, to his bewilderment, found himself
enjoying a degree of favor in curious contrast to the chill reception
for which he had nerved himself.
Lon Gates still limped slightly, but otherwise appeared to be none
the worse for his battle with Peter Groche. Lon was not boastful. He
pretended to make a joke of his capture of the desperado; and, in
private, confided to Sam that he felt a bit like a fellow who had been
able to bring in a stolen horse, but hadn’t known enough to lock the
stable door before the horse was stolen.
“So I reckon I ain’t quite so much of a genooine Shylock Holmes as I
let on to be,” he added. “Course, as the old lady said when she broke
her false teeth on a hick’rynut but didn’t swallow ’em, things might
be wuss, but then again they might be better. I ought to ’a’ had that
Groche locked up for stealin’ the wrench, when I had him dead to
rights; but I didn’t know enough. If I’d foreseen what was comin’----
Oh, wal, if I’d been able to do that, folks’d been dragging me off to
be President of the United States, instead o’ lettin’ me stay here to
help your father try to keep you in order.”
Mr. Parker, weather bound in No. 3 camp by the blizzard, had had
his first intimation of the club’s peril and escape when he reached
Coreytown on his way out. He came home to find Sam comfortably
settled. The father listened attentively to the son’s narrative, but
made no comment. Sam was puzzled a little by this, and not a little
disappointed. He would have given much to know precisely his father’s
opinion of his conduct throughout the episode.
But Mr. Parker reserving judgment, Sam went about his own affairs, and
was very busy. There was school, with study and recitations; coasting,
sleighing and snow-shoeing filled the afternoons; then there was a club
question, which brought him into frequent conference with the other
members. And at last this question was decided; and it was the evening
of the ninth day; and he was hurrying through his supper because,
decision having been reached, the club was to meet that night in full
session.
Sam had made his excuses, and was rising from the table, when his
father detained him.
“I wish you’d give me a few minutes, Sam,” he said. “It’s something
which may interest you. Step into the library, and I’ll join you
presently.”
Sam, at once curious and impatient, had not long to wait. Mr. Parker
seated himself at his desk, glanced at a memorandum, turned to the boy.
“Well, Sam,” he said slowly, “about time we took account of stock and
balanced the books, isn’t it?”
“I--I suppose so, sir,” his son answered uncertainly.
“Let’s see! Some weeks ago we reached an understanding. There had
been an untoward incident, due to your--er--er--well, call it your
precipitancy. At the time it seemed wise to put you on probation. Well,
how have you behaved?”
“Why--why”--Sam stammered--“why, I--I’ve----”
Mr. Parker’s glance was searching, but his lips were smiling.
“To the best of my information, you’ve behaved remarkably well!” said
he emphatically.
“Oh!” It was all Sam could say.
“Yes,” his father went on. “I’ve been at some pains to inquire into
your conduct. I’ve examined and cross-examined Lon and the boys who
were with you at the camp and afterward. By the way, two of them were
unusually excellent witnesses.”
“Yes, sir?” said Sam questioningly.
Mr. Parker’s smile broadened. “One was Willy Reynolds, who----”
“What! The Shark?... That’s a nickname we have for him, you know.”
“Ah! The Shark?”
“Yes, sir--he’s a bug on mathematics.”
“A bug, therefore a Shark--I don’t quite master the sequence of ideas,
but never mind that! Master Reynolds struck me as a quaint person, but
instructive. He seems to seek precision of statement, and begrudge
unnecessary words. Then there was young Orkney--very intelligent
fellow, and a very good friend of yours, isn’t he?”
“I hope so!” said Sam with sincerity.
“They were the star witnesses, but all testified to the same
effect--that you acquitted yourself creditably. Now, I don’t say that
you displayed the wisdom of age--I’ve told you that I do not look for
the head of sixty on the shoulders of sixteen--but you do seem to have
combined a degree of prudence with resolution and resourcefulness in
emergencies. All the boys say you were practically in command of the
party. If that is true, even if you didn’t keep your friends from
trouble, you brought them out of it. And that brings me from past to
future. Once I told you I hesitated to let you go to St. Mark’s because
I feared you couldn’t take care of yourself. Now what shall I say when
I find you caring for others as well as yourself?”
Sam drew in his breath sharply. “Oh! St. Mark’s! Why--why, sir, I--I
haven’t thought of it lately.”
“Well,” said his father quietly, “you are at liberty to think of it
now.”
Sam tried to utter his thanks--and failed. There was a lump in his
throat which forbade speech.
“It happens,” said Mr. Parker, “that I have had some talk recently with
Mr. Jones and Mr. Green. Both seem to be willing to have their boys go
to the school if you go, too; though Mr. Jones favors the change next
September rather than at the close of this term.”
Then Sam found tongue. “Hurrah! Step and Poke going, too! And
September’ll suit me just as well. I’ll be glad to finish out the year
here. And--and it doesn’t have to be kept a secret, does it?”
“Not unless you so desire.”
“Whoop!” shouted the delighted Sam, and rushed out of the library.
Thirty seconds later he was out of the house, and running toward the
club.
All the other members were present when he burst in upon them; but
before he could recover breath to spread his news, the Shark interposed.
“Don’t you try to start anything, Sam, till we’ve ’tended to business.
Look here!” He pulled out his watch. “Seven-twenty-eight--and the time
set’s seven-thirty.”
“Bother your watch, Shark!” cried Step. “Likely’s not it’s ’way off.”
The Shark frowned upon the doubter. “This watch,” he said severely,
“has an average gain of twenty-two seconds, plus, a month. It was set
by a jeweler’s chronometer four days ago. If you will take the trouble
to compute the error which has arisen since then, and subtract----”
“Hold on! No rough work like that goes!” jeered Poke. “Twenty-two plus
nothing! What’s the fraction? If we’re going to be accurate, let’s be
accurate!”
For an instant the Shark stared at Poke.
“You--you talking of accuracy! Holy smoke!” he growled in disgust. “You
couldn’t tell a vernier from a vulgar fraction!”
Sam thought he saw a chance to break in.
“Listen, you fellows----” he began; but this time the Trojan stopped
him.
“Put it off till the show’s over, Sam. We want this thing done right,
you know.”
“Sure! And you’ve got to make the speech, Sam!” chimed in Herman Boyd.
Sam’s jaw dropped. “Speech? Oh, thunder! but I can’t!” he protested.
“All the same, you’ll have to. It’s got to be put straight--the way we
feel about it--all that.”
Poke wagged his head knowingly. “It’s the proper caper,” said he, in
his philosophical fashion. “People always make speeches when they’ve
got to break the ice and don’t know exactly how to go about it.”
Here was American common practice, if not the soundest of doctrine.
The club was impressed.
“That’s so,” said two or three together.
“But----” Sam’s objection was cut short by a knock at the door.
The Trojan pushed him forward. Plainly there was no escape from the
rôle his friends were forcing upon him.
Sam opened the door. Then, rising to the occasion, he caught the hand
of a youth who stood on the step, and drew him into the room. Back of
him the other boys formed a smiling semicircle.
“Tom Orkney,” said Sam very earnestly, “you don’t know how pleased I am
to see you here. But I want you to understand that your election was
unanimous, and that every one of us is mighty glad to have you a member
of the Safety First Club!”
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
Illustrations have been moved to paragraph breaks near where they are
mentioned, except for the frontispiece.
Punctuation has been made consistent.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in
the original publication, except that obvious typographical errors have
been corrected.
The following change was made:
p. 339: hand changed to land (the land. If)