THE MYSTERIOUS AUTO
They awoke then, alarmed and confused, and stared with sleepy eyes at
the white radiance which, entering door and window, showed with
startling detail the bare walls of their refuge. Even as they looked the
light vanished and, by contrast, the darkness seemed blacker than ever.
"Awake, Amy?" whispered Clint.
"Yes. Say, what the dickens was that?"
"I don't know. Listen!"
From somewhere not far away came the steady purring of a motor car.
Their minds didn't work very quickly yet, and it was fully a minute
before Clint exclaimed: "An auto! Then we must be near the road!"
He scrambled to his feet and crept, unsteadily because of chilled limbs,
to the doorway. Amy followed. At first there was nothing to be seen. The
night was still cloudy. But the sound of the running motor reached them
distinctly, and, after a minute of strained peering into the darkness,
they made out a line of trees against the sky. Apparently there was a
road between them and the trees and the automobile was in the road. But
no lights showed from it.
"Do you suppose," whispered Amy, "it's that fellow looking for us?"
"No, but maybe, whoever it is, he will give us--"
Clint's whisper stopped abruptly. A light flashed a few yards away, such
an illumination as might be from a pocket electric lamp, and a voice
broke the stillness. Clint grasped Amy's arm, warning to silence.
Footsteps crossed the ground toward the hut.
Again the light flashed, but this time its rays were directed toward the
ground and showed two pairs of legs and something that looked like a
stout stick. Then it went out again and the footsteps stopped. The two
men, whoever they were and whatever they were doing, remained some
twenty feet from the watchers at the door. Now and then they spoke, but
so softly that the boys could not hear what was said. Neither could they
determine what the other sound was that reached them. It seemed almost
as though the men were scuffing about the ground, and the absurd notion
that they had lost something and were seeking it occurred to both. But
to look for anything in the dark when there was a light at hand was too
silly, and that explanation was discarded. For fully ten minutes--it
seemed much longer to the shivering pair in the doorway--the motor
chugged and the men continued their mysterious occupation. Amy's teeth
were chattering so that Clint squeezed his arm again. Then the light
again flashed, swept the ground for an instant and was as suddenly shut
off, and the footsteps retreated.
The boys eased their cramped positions. A minute passed. Then they
leaped aside from the doorway, for the flood of white light from the car
was again illumining the hut and the engine was humming loudly. A moment
of suspense, and the light swept past them, moved to the right, fell on
a line of bushes and trees, turned back a little and bored a long hole
in the darkness at the bottom of which stretched a roadway. And then,
with a final sputter of racing engine and a grind of gears, the car
sprang away up the road, the light dimmed and blackness fell again. The
chugging of the auto diminished and died in the distance. Amy arose
stiffly from where he had thrown himself out of the light.
"Now, what the dickens?" he demanded puzzledly.
"I can't imagine," replied Clint. "And I don't much care. What gets me
is why we didn't speak to them!"
"That's so," agreed Amy. "Somehow, there was something sort of sneaky
about them, though, wasn't there? Bet you anything they were robbers
or--or something."
"Robbers don't usually travel around the country at night in autos,"
said Clint thoughtfully. "But I felt the way you did about them, I
guess. I sort of felt that it would be just as well if we didn't butt
in! One of them had a club that looked right hefty."
"Let's go out there and see if we can find anything," suggested Amy.
"All right, but I don't suppose we can even find the place in the dark."
They went out very cautiously and tramped about where it seemed that the
mysterious visitors had been, and Amy even got down on hands and knees
and felt over the ground. But nothing of moment rewarded their search,
the only thing either of them discovered being a head-high bush into
which Clint walked. At last:
"Well, this isn't much fun," said Amy. "And I'm cold clear through. Now
we know where the road is, Clint, let's get on it and walk. At least it
will warm us up."
"All right. I wish I knew what those fellows were up to, though. Maybe
if we waited until daylight--"
"And froze to death! Nothing doing," chattered Amy. "Curiosity killed a
cat, and although I don't feel exactly kittenish, I refuse to take any
chances. What time do you suppose it is?"
"About midnight, I guess." Clint drew out his watch, but he couldn't
even discern the outline of it. "A fellow's a fool to go without
matches," he muttered disgustedly.
"Bet you it's a whole lot later than that," said Amy. "Anyway, let's get
going. Which direction do you think Wharton is?"
They debated that for some time after they had reached the road, and in
the end they decided that the town lay to their left, although, as Clint
pointed out, the men in the automobile had gone in the opposite
direction.
"They might be going to Thacher," said Amy. "Anyhow, we're bound to get
somewhere in time. All I ask of Fortune is a bed and a breakfast; and I
could do without the bed, I guess. Somewhere in the world, Clint there
are two cups of hot coffee waiting for us. Is that not a
cheering thought?"
"I wish I had mine now," replied the other shiveringly. "I dare say
we're headed in the wrong direction for Wharton."
"Say not so," exclaimed Amy, whose spirits were rapidly returning.
"Courage, faint heart! Onward to coffee!"
For awhile they speculated on the mysterious mission of the two men in
the automobile, but neither of them could offer a satisfactory solution
of the problem, and finally they fell silent. Fortunately the road ran
fairly straight and they got off it only once. After they had been
walking what seemed to them to be about an hour, although there was no
way of knowing, Clint called attention to the fact that he could see the
road. Amy replied that he couldn't, but in a moment decided that he
could. To the left of them there was a perceptible greying of the sky.
After that morning came fast. In a few minutes they could make out dimly
the forms of trees beside the way, then more distant objects became
visible and, as by a miracle, the sleeping world suddenly lay before
them, black and grey in the growing light. Somewhere a bird twittered
and was answered. A chilling breeze crept across a field, heralding the
dawn and bringing shivers to the boys. Soon after that they came across
the first sign of life, a farm with a creaking windmill busily at work,
and a light showing wanly in an upper window of the house.
"Some poor fellow is getting out of a nice, warm bed," soliloquised Amy.
"How I pity him! Can't you see him shaking his fist at the alarm-clock
and shivering as he gets into his panties?"
"He's lucky to have a nice, warm bed," responded Clint. "If I had one it
would take more than an alarm-clock to get me out of it!"
"Me too! Say, what do you think about sneaking over there to the stable
and hitting the hay for a couple of hours? Maybe the chap might give us
some coffee, too."
"More likely he'd set the dog on us at this time of morning," answered
Clint. And, to lend weight to his objection, a challenging bark came
across the field.
"Right-o," agreed Amy. "I didn't want any coffee, anyway. Isn't that a
sign-post ahead?"
It was a sign-post, looming black and forbidding, like a wayside gibbet,
where a second road turned to the left. "Wharton, 2 M--Levidge's Mills,
4 M--Custer, 6 M," they read with difficulty.
"We can do two miles in half an hour easily," said Amy. "Gee, I can
almost smell that coffee, Clint!"
They went on in the growing light, passing another farm-house presently
and another unfriendly dog. The greyness in the east became tinged with
rose. Birds sang and fluttered. A rabbit hopped nimbly across the road
ahead of them and disappeared, with a taunting flick of his little white
tail, in the bushes. Further on a chipmunk chattered at them from the
top of the wall and then, with long leaps, raced ahead to stop and eye
them inquiringly, finally disappearing with a last squeal of alarm. A
second sign-post renewed their courage. Wharton, it declared, was but a
mile distant. But that was a long, long last mile! They were no longer
sleepy, but their legs were very tired and the chilly breeze still bored
through their coats. But their journey came to an end at last.
Straggling houses appeared, houses with little gardens and truck patches
about them. Then came a factory building with row on row of staring
windows just catching the first faint glow of the sun. Then they crossed
a railroad and plunged into the town.
But it was a silent, empty town, for this was Sunday morning, and their
steps on the brick sidewalk echoed lonesomely. The awful thought that
perhaps there would be no eating-place open assailed them and drew a
groan of dismay from Amy. "Still," he declared, "if the worst comes to
the worst, we can break a window and get taken to jail. They feed you in
jail, don't they?" he added wistfully.
But near the centre of town a cheering sight met their anxious eyes. A
little man in a white apron was sweeping the doorway of a tiny
restaurant, yawning and pausing at intervals to gaze curiously toward
the approaching travellers. Before they reached him, however, his
curiosity either gave out or was sated, for, with a final tap of the
broom against the doorway, he disappeared. "Suppose," exclaimed Amy, "he
changes his mind and locks up again!" They urged tired feet to a faster
pace and reached the door. On one wide window was the legend:
"Cannister's Café." The door was closed but unlocked. They opened it
and entered.
There was no one in sight, but from beyond a partition which ran across
the room at the back came the cheering sounds of rattling dishes and the
heartening fragrance of coffee. There were eight small tables and a
little counter adorned with a cash register and a cigar case, and
these, excepting an appropriate number of chairs, comprised the
furnishings; unless the various signs along each wall could be included.
These announcements were printed in blue on grey card-board, and the
boys, sinking into chairs at the nearest table, read them avidly: "Beef
Stew, 15 Cents"; "Pork and Beans, 10 Cents"; "Boiled Rice and Milk, 10
Cents"; "Coffee and Crullers, 10 Cents"; "Oysters in Season"; "Small
Steak, 30 Cents"; "Buy a Ticket--$5.00 for $4.50"; "Corn Beef Hash, 15
Cents; With 1 Poached Egg, 20 Cents."
Their eyes met and they smiled. It was pleasantly warm in the little
restaurant, the sun was peeping in at the window, the odour of coffee
was more delightful than anything they had ever inhaled and it was
extremely good to stretch tired legs and ease aching muscles, and for
several minutes they were content to sit there and feast their hungry
eyes on the placards and enjoy in anticipation the cheer that was
to follow.
"What are you going to have?" asked Amy presently.
"Beans and a lot of bread-and-butter and seventy-five cups of coffee,"
replied Clint rapturously.
"Corned beef hash for mine. And a lot more coffee than that. Say, why
doesn't he come?"
Evidently the proprietor had drowned the sound of their entrance with
the rattle of dishes, for the swinging door in the partition remained
closed and the little ledged window beside it showed only a dim vista of
hanging pots and saucepans. Amy rapped a knife against the edge of a
glass and the noise at the rear ceased abruptly, the door swung open and
the man in the enveloping white apron viewed them in surprise. He was a
bald-headed, pink-faced little man with a pair of contemplative
blue eyes.
"Morning, boys," he said. "I didn't hear you come in. Don't usually get
customers till most seven on Sundays. Want something to eat?"
"Yes, can we have something pretty quick?" asked Clint. "We're nearly
starved."
"Well, I ain't got anything cooked, but the fire's coming up fast and it
won't take long. What would you want?"
They made known their wishes and the little man leisurely vanished
again. A clock above the counter announced the time to be twenty-five
minutes to seven.
"We might have got him to bring us some coffee now," said Amy.
"I'd rather wait until I get my breakfast," Clint replied. "I wonder
when we get a train for Brimfield. I reckon they don't run very often
on Sundays."
"Maybe this chap can tell us. We'll ask him when he comes back."
Other and delicious odours mingled with the coffee fragrance, and a
promising sound of sizzling reached them. "That," said Amy, settling
back luxuriously and patting his waistcoat, "is my corned beef hash. I
sort of wish I'd ordered an egg with it. Or, maybe, two eggs. Guess I
will. Some crullers would taste pretty good, wouldn't they?"
"Anything would taste good," agreed Clint longingly.
Ten minutes passed and the door opened to admit another customer. After
that they drifted in by ones and twos quite fast. The boys gathered that
the newcomers were men employed at the railway yards nearby, and
presently Amy questioned one who was reading a paper at the next table.
"Can you tell us when we can get a train for Brimfield?" he asked.
"Brimfield? Yes, there's one at seven-twelve and one at
nine-forty-six."
"I guess we couldn't get the seven-twelve," said Amy, glancing at the
clock. "The other would be all right."
"I ain't sure if that one stops at Brimfield, though. Say, Pete, does
the nine-forty-six stop at Brimfield?"
"No," replied a man at another table. "Express to New York."
"You're wrong," volunteered a third. "It runs accommodation from here on
Sundays."
"That's so," agreed the other. "I'd forgot."
Amy thanked his informant and at that moment the proprietor, who had
been in and out taking orders, appeared with the boys' breakfasts. The
baked beans and the hash were sizzling hot and looked delicious, and the
coffee commanded instant attention. A plate piled with thick slices of
bread and two small pats of very yellow butter completed the repast. For
five minutes by the clock not a word was said at that table. Then,
having ordered a second cup of coffee apiece, the boys found time
to pause.
"Gee, but that was good!" murmured Amy. "I suppose I must have eaten
awfully fast, for I don't seem to want those eggs now."
"How about the crullers?" asked Clint.
"They wouldn't be half bad, would they? Have some?" Clint nodded and
four rather sad-looking rings of pastry appeared. It was still only a
quarter past seven and, since they could not continue their journey
before nine-forty-six, they consumed the crullers and their second cups
of coffee more leisurely. The little restaurant began to get pretty
smoky, and the combined odours of a dozen breakfasts, now that they had
completed their own repasts, failed to delight them. But they stayed on,
hating the thought of the walk to the station, quite satisfied to remain
there without moving in the warmth and cheerful bustle. If they could
have laid their heads against the wall and gone to sleep they'd have
asked nothing more. Amy nodded drowsily once or twice and Clint stared
out the sunny window with the somnolent gaze of a well-fed cat. It was,
he reflected, a very beautiful world. And then their pleasant day-dreams
were disturbed by the sudden and rather boisterous entry of a big,
broad-shouldered man who seemed to take entire possession of the
restaurant and quite dwarf its size.
"Hello, boys!" The newcomer skimmed his hat dexterously to a peg, pulled
out a chair with twice as much noise as usually accompanies such an
operation and plumped his big body into it with a heartiness which
almost set the dishes to rattling in the kitchen. Everyone in the room
except the two boys answered his greeting.
"Hello, Mike! How's the lad?"
"Fine! And hungry to beat the band! Can, you old rascal! Where are you?
Fry me a couple of eggs and some bacon, Can, and draw one."
"All right, Mike!" The proprietor's pink face showed for an instant at
the window. The newcomer opened a morning paper with a loud rustling,
beating the sheets into place with the flat of a huge hand. "You fellows
hear about the burglary?" he asked.