THE OFFICER AT THE DOOR
Dick was just leaving the house when the boys arrived there that
evening, and Eli Yale was awaiting him at the curb, but he instantly
offered to return. Since the evening had turned cool, they went inside,
seating themselves in the little room to the right that was at once
parlor, living-room, library and Dick’s study.
It was a comfortable, homelike little room, with a big table by the
front windows whereat Dick studied and conducted his affairs, a smaller
one, in the center of the warmly-hued carpet, flanked by two easy
chairs,――one of which, a deeply tufted leather affair, was Dick’s
especial property,――a couch covered with a gaily colored Afghan robe,
two book-cases, an old-fashioned foot-rest, more chairs and, curled
up on one of them, a fluffy smoke-gray cat. Between the book-shelves
was a fireplace and on the marble ledge above, a brass-dialed,
ebony-cased clock ticked with dignified deliberation, keeping perfect
time with the purring of Lady Gray. On the big table a green-shaded
student lamp threw a pleasant light over the neat piles of books and
papers. There was little that was either new or expensive in the room,
but everything, from the oldest side-chair to the few pictures on the
walls, proclaimed friendliness and comfort.
Fudge was the spokesman, and he managed to tell his story with
commendable brevity, although he could not help embroidering it with a
few harmless frills. Dick was interested at once. If he suspected that
he was not being told quite all there was to tell, he made no sign.
When Fudge had reached a slightly breathless but triumphant conclusion
Dick nodded. “I’ll be glad to speak to Louise,” he said, “and to
the others as well. I don’t believe that Mr. Brent is employing any
surveyors just now, for I think he has done all he is going to do on
the addition at present. There’s talk of re-locating the trolley line
that runs over to Sterling and I believe he is not going to do anything
more until that has been settled. But we’ll do what we can, Fudge, the
lot of us. If it’s as bad as you say with this chap, he ought to have
some work given him. Do you suppose he can do anything else if there’s
no engineering just now?”
“He can run a livery stable,” said Fudge doubtfully.
“And punch cattle,” added Perry.
“I’m afraid there isn’t much chance of his getting a job at
cattle-punching in Clearfield,” Dick laughed. “All right, fellows,
I’ll speak about it this evening. I was just going to run over to the
Brents’ when you came. Look me up to-morrow and I’ll tell you what the
result is.”
They took their departure, highly satisfied, and Dick sped away in
Eli. When he reached Brentwood he found Louise and Lanny in absorbed
discussion of the Track Trophy. Louise Brent was a tall, blue-eyed
girl of fifteen, with a fair skin and much yellow-brown hair. She was
attractive more on account of her expression than her features. Dick
was made welcome and Lanny explained about the trophy, and the three
laid plans and drew sketches for the better part of an hour. Louise was
enthusiastic and promised to interest the other girls at once. “You
just wait, Lanny,” she said.
“It’s going to be the most scrumptious pennant you ever saw. We’ll get
Lila Abbey to do the laurel wreath part. She’s perfectly wonderful at
that sort of thing. Oughtn’t we to put it on a stick?”
“I suppose so. And tie it with purple ribbons, eh?”
“Of course.” Louise reflected, tapping a pencil against her white
teeth. “It isn’t going to be awfully easy, but we’ll do it all right.
When ought we to have it done?”
“Why, I guess there’s no hurry. Any time before the Springdale meet
will do, I think.”
“Better have it on exhibition a week or so in one of the windows down
town,” suggested Dick.
“We can have it done in two weeks, I’m certain,” said Louise. “I’ll get
a whole lot of the girls around here some afternoon and we’ll work on
it. And――and it’s supposed to be our idea entirely, you say, Lanny?”
“Yes, we thought it would be better like that. You needn’t tell the
others that we know anything about it. Just sort of give them to
understand that it’s your idea and that Guy and the rest of us are
tickled to death with it.”
“I wouldn’t want to pretend I thought of it,” replied Louise, “because,
of course, I didn’t, but I don’t suppose anyone will ask who did think
of it. What we ought to do, first of all, I guess, is to make a pattern
of it so as to get it just the right size.”
“Ought to have a drawing made, I’d say,” remarked Dick, “so you’ll
know just where the lettering goes and all that.”
“Oh, dear, you’re just trying to make it harder!” sighed Louise.
“You’re quite right, though; only I’m sure I don’t know who could do
it. I know I couldn’t. Could you, Lanny?”
“Great Scott, no! I can’t draw a straight line.”
“Oh, you’ll find someone,” said Dick reassuringly. “Or,” struck by a
sudden thought, “I’ll tell you what, Louise. There’s a chap here in
town, a civil engineer named Addicks, who would probably be glad to
make a drawing of the thing. I was going to speak to you about him
later. He’s out of work and having rather a hard time of it. Fudge and
Perry Hull came to see me this evening just before I left the house
and told me about him. The two kids were quite excited; wanted me to
see you and ask you to try and get your father to give him some work.
Philanthropy’s rather a new stunt for Fudge, but he made out a bully
case for the chap; got me all wrought up about him! Fudge says he has
a room in that block where Ginter’s Bakery is and cooks his own meals
there and is frightfully hard up.”
“The poor man!” said Louise.
“Yes, according to Fudge, he lives on sausages and bread and coffee.”
“Sausages aren’t bad,” said Lanny judicially. “Getting a bit late for
them, though. If I were he, I’d switch to lamb chops.”
“Don’t be horrid,” said Louise. “Of course I’ll ask papa, Dick. And
I’ll just insist on his finding something for the poor man to do. I
dare say papa knows the railroad people well enough to get them to give
him work.”
“The railroad people?” asked Dick.
“Yes, you said he was an engineer, didn’t you?”
“Civil engineer, not railway, Louise.”
“Oh! That’s different, isn’t it? Civil engineers survey things, don’t
they?”
“Correct,” replied Lanny. “Have you forgotten the famous poem written
by a civil engineer? Something about ‘I’m monarch of all I survey; My
right there is none to dispute’; remember?”
“That was Cowper,” replied Louise scathingly. “And he was a poet, not a
civil engineer.”
“Oh, all right! Of the two I’d rather be the engineer, though, and live
on sausages.”
“Lanny, you’re crazy in the head,” laughed Dick.
“He’s just silly,” corrected Louise. “Papa has a good deal of surveying
done, I think, Dick, and I’m sure he could find some for this
Mister――――”
“Addicks is the name,” prompted Dick. “I wish you’d ask him, anyway. I
suppose he isn’t in this evening?”
“No, he and mamma went out to make a call. Maybe he will be back before
you go, though.”
“Does he usually stay out until midnight?” said Lanny innocently.
Louise blushed a little.
“You’re quite horrid this evening,” she charged. “If you want me to
make that pennant for you, you’d better behave yourself.”
“I’ll do the nicest thing I know,” returned Lanny sweetly. “I’ll go
home!”
The next afternoon Clearfield played Fernwood High School on the
diamond and beat the visiting nine decisively, 14 to 3. The work of the
purple team was rather ragged and neither Haley nor Nostrand, both of
whom pitched that afternoon, was in good form. Hits were frequent on
both sides, but Clearfield’s performance in the field prevented many
runs by the visitors. Fernwood, on the other hand, had two bad innings,
during which their infield threw the ball wild, and errors, coupled
with some timely hitting by Bryan, Cotner and Merrick, in especial,
enabled the home team to pile up a safe score before the game was half
over. As Lanny was working with the track men that afternoon, his
place was taken by Terry Carson, and the substitute caught a nearly
perfect game until the eighth inning when a foul tip glanced away
from a bat and split one of his fingers. After that McCoy went behind
the plate, and it was a marvel that the visitors didn’t pull the game
out of the fire, for Sprague McCoy, an outfielder, was quite at sea in
the backstop position. Nostrand, however, who was in the points during
the last four innings, got himself together and managed to stave off
two batting rallies. The incident opened Dick’s eyes to the fact that
a second substitute catcher was needed, and he and Captain Jones went
a-hunting. It was Pete Robey upon whom their choice finally fell, and
Pete found himself suddenly elevated from an insecure position amongst
the rabble to a seat on the first team bench. But that was a day or two
later. To-day Dick and Warner Jones were still discussing the matter
when they left the field, and it was into that discussion that Fudge
broke when he and Perry caught up with the older boys just as Dick
swung himself into the runabout.
“Dick, did you find out anything last night?” asked Fudge eagerly.
“Hello, Fudge! Hello, Perry! Why, yes, something. Pile in here and I’ll
tell you in a minute. Let Perry sit in your lap, Warner, will you?
Fudge, you squat on the floor.”
“Don’t drag your feet, though,” warned the captain humorously, “or
you’ll stop the car.” He and Dick resumed their discussion of the
catcher question and kept it up until Warner got out at his gate. When
they trundled on Dick turned to the expectant Fudge.
“I spoke to Louise last night, Fudge, about your friend, and then she
spoke to her father this morning. I suspect that he didn’t much want to
hire What’s-his-name, but Louise is a very determined person and she
finally got him to say that if this friend of yours would call on him
at his office to-morrow morning――he’s in New York to-day――he’d talk
with him. Louise telephoned me at breakfast about it. She said Mr.
Brent was very obstinate at first.”
“That’s b-b-bully!” exclaimed Fudge.
“Well, don’t expect too much,” warned Dick. “Mr. Brent isn’t likely to
hire him unless he can prove that he knows his business. I know enough
about Mr. Brent to be certain of that, Fudge.”
“Sure, but he does know his business! He’s a very fine civil engineer.”
“How do you know?” asked Dick gravely. “Has he ever done any work for
you?”
Perry chuckled, and Fudge reddened a bit. “No, but――but you can
t-t-t-tell he is, Dick!”
“I see. Well, do you think he can draw?”
Fudge looked doubtfully at Perry, found no help there and replied
sturdily: “You bet he can! He’s a great drawer, he is!”
Dick smiled as he slowed down at Perry’s gate. “I asked because the
girls are going to make a silk pennant as a prize for the Track Team
and they want someone to make a drawing of it to work by. I told Louise
that perhaps this fellow Addicks could do it for them. Do you think he
could?”
“I know he could,” answered Fudge, with beautiful faith. “What’s it
for, this pennant?”
“Why, it’s to go, I believe, to the fellow who does the best work for
us in the meet with Springdale. It’s to be rather a gorgeous affair;
purple silk with green leaves and white lettering. Suppose you see Mr.
Addicks and tell him about it and ask if he will do it. There isn’t
much money in it, because the girls have got to go to quite a little
expense before they’re through, I guess. Louise thought a dollar would
be enough, but you could ask him what he’d do it for. If it wasn’t much
more than that, I guess they’d pay it. Mind doing that?”
“No, indeed! We’ll do it right now. It’s just around the corner. Want
to come along?”
“Thanks, no, I’ve got to get home. Call me up this evening and tell me
what he says. Much obliged, and I hope that job will pan out, fellows.
Good-night!”
It was getting dark in the building when Fudge and Perry went in and
climbed the stairs. Halfway up they encountered some of the workers in
the glove factory, but after that the building seemed deserted. At the
top of the last flight, though, they discovered that it wasn’t, for, in
front of Mr. Addicks’ door at the end of the twilit corridor a bulky
figure stood. As the boys looked the figure took on the appearance of
a policeman. The policeman――they could see him more plainly now that
their eyes had accustomed themselves to the half darkness――rapped
loudly, imperatively on the door. He waited, and, as there was no
response, he tried the handle. The door was locked. Then he bent close
to the sign, as though making certain he was not mistaken, glanced up
at the closed transom and swung around. Fudge dragged Perry forward
and began an examination of the signs on the nearer portals as the
policeman, walking almost noiselessly on rubber-soled shoes, passed
them with a brief but searching glance. As his quiet footfalls died
away in the hall below Fudge turned a wild, alarmed gaze on Perry.
“_They’re after him!_” he whispered hoarsely.