PREPARATIONS FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY
It was a great home-coming. As was to be expected, Aunt Martha had had
the cook prepare a most elaborate supper, and, to this the lads did full
justice. The long ride on the cars had tired them, yet they remained up
long enough to tell about affairs at college, and learn what their father
and their other relatives had to say.
“Say, this is like old times!” exclaimed Dick, as he entered his bedroom.
“Looks as natural as it ever did.”
“Anyt’ing I can do fo’ yo’ young gen’men?” asked a voice from the
doorway, and Aleck Pop showed himself, his mouth on a grin from ear to
ear. Indeed Aleck had not stopped grinning since the boys had appeared.
“Not that I know of, Aleck,” answered Dick. “How have you been since we
went away?”
“I ain’t been well, sah,” answered the colored man, and his face fell for
a moment. “It’s been dat awful lonesome lik I thinks I was a gwine to die
sometimes.”
“Never mind, Aleck, we’ll cheer you up some day,” came from Tom.
“I guess I ought to be at a boahdin’ school, or a collidge,” went on
Aleck. “Perhaps I’ll go back to Putnam Hall—if de cap’n will take me.”
“Oh, he’ll take you back fast enough,” answered Sam. “But why not try for
a place at Brill?”
“Yo’ collidge? Would da hab me dar, yo’ t’ink?”
“Perhaps. They have some colored help.”
“Den say, won’t you put in a good word fo’ me, all ob yo’?” asked Aleck,
earnestly. “I’d gib most anyt’ing fo’ to be wid yo’, ’deed I would!” and
his eyes rolled from one lad to another.
“We’ll keep that in mind, Aleck,” answered Dick. “But you can be with us
this summer—at least part of the time.”
“I’se glad ob dat, Massa Dick. I’se jess been a-pinin’ an’ a-pinin’ fo’
you boys!”
The boys slept soundly, and did not get up until late. They spent the
best part of the day in roaming around the farm, and in writing letters
to the girls, telling of their safe arrival home.
“I’ll tell you what I’d like to do,” said Tom, that afternoon. “I’d like
to invite the Lanings and the Stanhopes down here to spend the Fourth of
July. We might have a sort of house party.”
“Great!” shouted Sam. “Just the thing—if they’ll come.”
“Let us sound dad and Uncle Randolph and Aunt Martha on the subject,”
added Dick.
The matter was talked over, and the boys readily secured permission to
have their friends at the farm for the best part of a week. The
invitations were issued immediately, for the national holiday was but ten
days off.
“I know what I’d like to do, after they are gone,” said Dick. “I’d like
to take our tent and go camping up the river for a week or two, just for
the novelty of it. We could fish and swim, and take it easy, and have
lots of sport.”
“Suits me down to the ground,” answered Tom. “We’ll do it—unless
something better turns up.”
“I was going to suggest an automobile tour,” said Sam. “Uncle Randolph
has the new car and it is certainly a dandy.”
“Well, maybe we can take the tour, too,” answered Dick. “The summer
vacation will be pretty long.”
“We could run up to Cedarville,” said Tom.
“Sure—right to the Lanings’ home,” added Dick, giving Tom a poke in the
ribs.
“Oh, sure—and over to the Stanhopes’ place, too.”
Having sent their letters the boys waited anxiously for replies. On
Saturday the answers came, and they read the communications with deep
interest.
“Hurrah! Nellie and Grace are coming, with their mother!” cried Tom.
“And Dora is coming with them,” said Dick.
“What about Mrs. Stanhope?” asked Sam.
“She said she might come, but she wasn’t sure.”
A letter had been written by Mrs. Rover to Mrs. Laning and there was a
reply to this, both from Mrs. Laning and Mrs. Stanhope.
“We’ll have a great celebration!” cried Tom.
“How about those fireworks?” asked Dick.
“I expect them today.”
“Have you got enough?” asked Sam.
“As many as we had at Brill.”
“That will be plenty.”
“I ordered some powder, too, for use in the old cannon,” went on Tom.
“We’ll wake up the natives this Fourth all right!”
“You look out that you don’t blow yourself up,” warned Dick, for he knew
his fun-loving brother could get rather reckless at times.
“Oh, I’ll be on guard,” was Tom’s answer.
When Tom went to Oak Run to get the fireworks old Ricks was decidedly
grouchy.
“I’ve got a good mind not to let you have ’em,” growled the station
master. “You didn’t have no right to play that trick on me with that
cigar.”
“What trick?” demanded Tom, innocently.
“Oh, you know well enough, you scamp! Think it’s smart to put off a cigar
on me thet swells up and busts out worms! Bah! you keep your cigars to
yourself after this.”
“All right, if you want me to,” answered Tom, meekly, and then, watching
his chance, he placed another of the “doctored” cigars in Ricks’ office,
where he had a cigar box with tickets in it. Then he, with Jack Ness’
aid, loaded his fireworks and the small box of powder on the farm wagon.
As Tom worked he watched Ricks narrowly and saw the station agent enter
his office to sell tickets. While he was making change he chanced to look
into the cigar box with the tickets, and Tom, peeping through a crack of
the door, saw him take up the cigar and look at it wonderingly.
“Hum!” murmured Ricks. “I thought that box was empty. Sallers must have
left this in it when he gave it to me. That’s one on Bob. Guess I’ll
smoke it up before he comes an’ asks me about it.” The man he mentioned
was a storekeeper of the vicinity, who had given him the cigar box the
evening before.
Ricks struck a match and commenced to puff away with satisfaction. By
this time the wagon was loaded and Tom directed Jack Ness to drive off to
the bridge and wait for him.
“Well, good-bye, Mr. Ricks,” said the fun-loving youth, as he stepped up
to the ticket window. “Hope you don’t hold any hard feelings.”
“You quit your foolin’!” growled the station master.
“I see you’re smoking another cigar.”
“What if I am? Ain’t I got a right to smoke if I want to?”
“Not if you see things when you do it.”
“See things? Wot do you mean, Tom Rover?”
“They tell me that you imagined you saw snakes the other day when you
were smoking.”
“You go on about your business! You played me a trick, that’s what you
did!”
“It’s queer how cigars affect some people. They get nervous and think the
end of the cigar is crawling,” went on Tom, earnestly. “Now, if I was
affected that way I wouldn’t smoke.”
“Say, Tom Rover, I want you to understand——”
What the station agent wanted Tom to know was never divulged, for at that
instant the cigar commenced to swell at the lit end and then an
ashy-colored “worm” commenced slowly to uncurl, reaching a length of a
foot or more. Ricks took the cigar in his hand, held it at arm’s length
and viewed it with horror.
“It’s another one of ’em!” he groaned.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Ricks?” asked Tom, calmly.
“This cigar! Did—did you play this trick on me?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Look at the end o’ this cigar.”
“I don’t see anything wrong. It looks like a fine cigar, and it seems to
burn well,” answered Tom, as soberly as a judge.
“Don’t you see the—the worms?”
“Worms! Mr. Ricks you are dreaming!”
“Ain’t that a—er—a worm?” shouted the station master, pointing with his
finger at the thing dangling at the end of the cigar.
“Mr. Ricks, you must have ’em again,” answered Tom, and looked deeply
shocked. “You had better go and see a doctor. This cigar smoking has got
on your nerves.”
“It ain’t so! I see the worms! There they are!” And the station master
poked his finger into the mass.
Now, as those who are acquainted with the fireworks known as Serpent’s
Eggs, or Pharaoh’s Serpents, know, the “worms” or “serpents” are very
fragile and go to dust at the slightest touch. Consequently when Ricks
placed his finger rudely on those at the end of the cigar they were
knocked off, and falling to the floor, were completely shattered to dust.
At this the station master started in amazement.
“Where are the worms?” asked Tom. “I don’t see them?”
“Why—I—er—that is—they were here!” stammered Ricks.
“Where?”
“On the end o’ the cigar.”
“Then where are they now?” demanded Tom. “Give me one, till I examine
it.”
“Why they—they are—er—gone now.”
“Gone?”
“Yes. Say, I don’t know about this!” And the old station master commenced
to scratch his head. He looked at the cigar wonderingly. But no more
“worms” were forthcoming, for the reason that the pellets Tom had placed
within had burnt themselves out.
“You certainly ought to see a doctor—or else give up smoking cigars,”
said Tom, as soberly as ever.
“Tom Rover, ain’t this no trick o’ yours?”
“Trick? Do you think I am a wizard? I find you smoking a cigar and you go
and see worms, or snakes, just as if you had been drinking. Maybe you do
drink.”
“I don’t. I ain’t teched a drop in six months.”
“Well, you had better do something for yourself,” said Tom, as he backed
away from the ticket window.
“I don’t understand this, nohow!” muttered the old station master. “But I
ain’t goin’ to smoke thet cigar no more!” he added, and threw the weed
out on the railroad tracks.
When Tom got to the wagon he was shaking with laughter. The joke was too
good to keep, and as they drove along he told Jack Ness about what had
occurred.
“It’s one on Ricks,” said the hired man, with a broad grin. “He’s kind o’
a superstitious man an’ he’ll imagine all sorts o’ things!”
“Well, if it cures him of smoking it will be a good job done,” answered
Tom. “I’ve seen him with a pipe in his mouth when a lady wanted a
railroad ticket, and he would blow the smoke right into her face.”
It made Randolph Rover somewhat nervous to have so many fireworks and so
much powder around the premises—and there was a good reason for this, for
the facilities for fighting fire at Valley Brook were very meager. So, to
please his uncle, Tom stored the stuff in a small building at the bottom
of one of the fields, where some farming implements and berry crates and
boxes were kept.
The cannon Tom had mentioned was a rather old affair. But it seemed to be
in good condition and the boys spent some time in cleaning it out and
putting it in condition for use. It was mounted on a big block and set in
the middle of the lawn.
“Now, I reckon we are ready to celebrate!” cried Sam, after all the
preparations were complete. “And we ought to have a dandy time.”
“We will have,” answered Dick.
“Best ever!” chimed in Tom.