THE NEWEST TRICK OF ALL
"Here's where old Miss Lowthry lives," muttered Ned Allen, halting
before a gate leading into the grounds surrounding a cosy little
cottage.
"It wouldn't be very manly to do anything to scare lone women, would
it?" demanded Dick.
"She's an old maid," protested Toby.
"That's no crime," insisted Dick.
"She has no use for boys," breathed Ben Alvord, complainingly.
"From some things that boys do, I don't altogether blame her," chuckled
young Prescott.
"And--say! Don't Miss Lowthry hate babies!" grunted Wrecker Lane. "You
remember Fred Porter? His folks used to live in that next house. When
Fred was a baby they say he used to cry something awful. Well, once in
the summer, after Fred had cried every night for a week, and Miss
Lowthry had to hear it all through her open windows, what did she do but
go to the health board and ask that the Porters be ordered to make their
baby stop crying. There was an awful fuss about it, and Miss Lowthry
made some talk about all babies being brats."
"They are not," denied Hoof Sadby indignantly.
"That's what I'm trying to tell you," went on Wrecker calmly. "That's
why I have no use for old maids that hate babies. Now, there are some
old maids that are really fine. But Miss Lowthry!"
"Wrecker, you live right near here," murmured Dick suddenly.
"'Course I do."
"Then come aside. I want to whisper something to you."
Then Dick talked in whispers with Wrecker for a few moments. The other
boy was seen by the curious suddenly to double up with laughter. From
that attitude Wrecker recovered, only to start off on the run.
"Say, what is it?" demanded a dozen cautious voices as Dick came back to
the crowd.
"Now, see here, fellows, don't want to know too much. Just stay around
and see what happens, and you'll all enjoy it as much as Miss Lowthry
does."
"Then it's against her?" breathed Ben Alvord. "Good! great!"
"Now, you, Dave, stay here with me," Dick went on, disposing of his
forces with the air of a general. "The rest of you fellows scoot across
the lawn and hide in the bushes. Hide so that you can't be seen from the
street or from the front door of the cottage, either. Then just wait and
see what happens."
Tom Reade and Greg managed to get the crowd started. Then Dick called,
softly:
"Oh, say, Hoof! I'll hold the baby for you a while. You must be tired."
Hoof started, and glared suspiciously. But he knew that Dick was "always
on the square," and so, after swallowing hard, passed the tiny, bundled
youngster over to Prescott's waiting arms. "Say, be careful what you do
with him," pleaded Sadby. "He's a fine little fellow."
Then the crowd hid. How they watched and waited! Miss Lowthry's sitting
room was lighted, and the boys could see her, seated in a rocking chair,
reading a book.
It seemed ages ere Wrecker Lane returned. When he came he brought a
basket. Some soft fragments of blanket rested in the bottom of it.
"Just the thing," chuckled Dick softly, placing the baby in the basket.
"Now, skip over there, Wrecker, and hide with the fellows in the
bushes."
Dick waited until Wrecker Lane vanished.
"Now, come along, Dave," chuckled Prescott. "You ring the bell just as I
place the basket on the steps. Then we'll both hot-foot it to join the
fellows."
A few moments later Dick and Dave scurried to cover, snuggling down
among a lot of Grammar School boys who were holding their handkerchiefs
wedged in their mouths.
Then they heard the front door open, saw Miss Lowthry peer out, and then
heard her utter a shriek, followed with:
"Mercy me! Who has dared to leave a foundling on my step?"
And then, as she bent over and poked the pieces of blanket aside:
"Mercy! What a horridly homely brat!"
"It isn't!" exploded Hoof, in an undertone, as he snatched the
handkerchief from his mouth. "Gracious! Wouldn't I like to pinch her!"
But Miss Lowthry must have recognized her duty as a citizen, for she
picked up the basket and bore it into the house, slamming the door
behind her.
"Wow! Oh, dear! oh, dear!" laughed a lot of mischievous youngsters
hidden in the bushes.
"Look!" whispered Dave Darrin. "She has taken the basket into her
sitting room. She's placed it on a table. There she goes to the
telephone. Whee! See how she's working her arm, jerking that telephone
bell crank!"
Some conversation that the young peepers, of course, couldn't hear
passed over the telephone. Then Miss Lowthry hung up the receiver and
thrust her forefingers into her ears as she turned to stare at the human
contents of the basket on the table.
"The poor kid's hollering," muttered Hoof. "Can you blame it?"
All that followed, and which the boys could see through the lighted
windows of the room interested them mightily. But at last they heard a
heavy step on the sidewalk. Then one of the blue-coated guardians of
Gridley's peace turned in at the gate, went up to the door and rang the
bell.
"She sent for the police," chuckled Dick Prescott.
"Of course," grinned Dave.
The peeping boys saw the officer step through into the old maid's
sitting room. Miss Lowthry pointed at the basket in a highly dramatic
way. The policeman bent over to take a kindly look at the tiny youngster
therein, then adjusting the pieces of blanket, he lifted the basket.
"Now, it's time to do your turn, Hoof," whispered Dick, giving young
Sadby a nudge. "Slip over the fence and do it right."
Miss Lowthry followed the policeman to the door, opening it for him and
letting him out.
"Boo-hoo!" sounded a heart-broken voice out on the sidewalk, in the
darkness beyond. Then, as the policeman stepped down from the steps,
Hoof suddenly let out a wail and darted into the yard.
"Say, Mister Cop, have you got it?" demanded Hoof eagerly.
"Got what?" demanded the policeman.
"My baby brother! You see, Mister Cop, some fellows took my baby brother
and carried him off for a joke."
Then Hoof came into the pale light that was shed just past the open
front door. There were tears in his eyes, all right, for an onion was
one of the things that "Wrecker" Lane had brought from home. Hoof had
rubbed a slice of the onion on the skin under his eyes, and the tears
that he wanted to show were genuine enough.
"Is this your brother?" demanded the policeman, lowering the basket he
was carrying.
The Sadby baby had begun to cry again, but at sight of Hoof the little
fellow stopped suddenly, crowed and reached out with its little hands.
"After that do you have to ask if that's my kid brother?" demanded Hoof
Sadby proudly.
"I guess it is, all right, Sadby," replied the policeman. "I know you.
Well, if this is your brother, please take him off my hands--and
welcome. You see, Miss Lowthry, it was nothing but the humorous prank of
some boys. This is Hallowe'en."
"Boys!" sniffed Miss Lowthry, glaring. "Humph! I think I could eat a
couple of boys, right now, if I could see them skinned alive and then
boiled."
Hoof, once he had possession of the basket, raced away as though nothing
else on earth mattered. This was good policy for, if he lingered, the
policeman might begin to ask questions.
When the door had closed and the officer was gone, Dick and his crowd
slipped out from concealment, joining Hoof and his baby brother.
"Oh, me, oh, my!" groaned Dave Darrin, stifling with laughter. "We must
play this on some more folks."
"But say," warned Dick Prescott, "don't you think that, by the time
we've played this on three or four more people, the policeman will begin
to be suspicious of Hoof's wailing accents and his great joy at finding
his kid brother?"
"Oh, we'll have to try it again, anyway," urged Tom Reade. "I know just
the people to work it on. You know Mr. and Mrs Crossleigh? They live
around on the next street. They haven't any children, and they're big
cranks."