A HAY STACK FIRE
Cold, wet and altogether miserable, Tom and his chums stood in the
farmer's yard, waiting for they scarcely knew what. Their reception
had been anything but cordial, and, considering that they were unaware
that they had done any damage to the field of corn, it was almost
unwarranted.
"Well, what do you know about this?" asked Bert, as he took off his cap
and dashed the rain drops from it.
"I don't know much," replied Jack, dubiously as he turned the collar of
his coat closer up around his neck.
"He's a cheerful chap--not," murmured George.
"He might at least treat us decently," said Tom, and there was a note
of defiance in his voice. "If we've damaged his corn I'm willing to
pay for it, but he might at least direct us to the road."
"That's right," chimed in Jack. "What's he doing now?"
"Getting a lantern, from the looks of things," replied Bert. The
farmer had gone to the barn and in a few moments he returned carrying a
light that swung to and fro, casting queer fantastic shadows on the
rain-soaked ground.
"Now I'll see what sort of damage ye done t' my corn!" grumbled the
man. "I don't see what right a passel of youngsters have t' tramp
through a man's field for, anyhow?"
"We got lost, I told you!" exclaimed Tom, a bit provoked. "We didn't
do it on purpose. If we've done any damage we're responsible for it."
"Yes, I know what that means!" sneered the man. By this time he was at
the fence over which the boys had leaped into his yard, and, swinging
the lantern about, he endeavored to see how much damage had been done
to his corn.
"Tromped down! A whole passel of ye tromped it down!" he muttered. "I
thought so, an' that's my best field, too! I've a notion t' have ye
arrested fer trespass."
"Oh, be sensible," ripped out Tom, who was fast losing his temper, a
thing that seldom occurred to him. "Tell us what the damage is, and
I'll settle. And then tell us how we can get on the river road, and
back to Elmwood Hall."
"Huh! A nice lot of school boys you are!" sneered the, man. "Th' fust
thing they ought t' teach ye is manners! Spilin' a man's corn!"
"Can't you say what the damage is?" put in Jack.
"No, I can't--not until mornin', anyhow."
"Then tell us how to get on the right road, and you can send your bill
to Elmwood Hall. Fairfield is my name--Tom Fairfield," cried our hero.
"Oh, I'll send you the bill all right," snapped the farmer. "I'll
attend to that, and ye'll pay th' last cent due, too, let me tell you
that!"
"All right," agreed Tom with a sigh. "I suppose you'll charge us
double, but we've got to expect that from such as you."
"What do you mean?" snapped, the man swinging his lantern up so he
could see Tom's face.
"You know what I mean! You don't seem to want to be reasonable. Now,
if it's all the same to you, will you kindly direct us to the right
road? And as soon as your bill comes in I'll settle it, though I want
to say that we had no idea of injuring your corn, and wouldn't have
gotten into your field but that we got lost."
"Huh! That's a likely story. I know you fresh young school squabs!"
"Oh, where's the road?" asked Tom impatiently. "We don't care much for
your opinions!"
"Find it yourself!" snapped the man. "I'll not show you, and the
sooner you get off my property the better for you!"
"Humph! I can't say that I admire your disposition," spoke Tom, in
exasperation, for he was cold and wet, and the prospect of reporting in
late, and making a failure of the cross-country run, was not pleasant.
"None of your sass!" growled the man. "Be off, now, or I'll turn the
dogs loose!"
With another took at the trampled rows of corn he went into the house,
taking the lantern with him, and shutting the door after him. It
seemed darker than ever in the farmyard with the light gone, and the
rain was coming down in torrents.
"Nice prospect!" murmured George.
"What are we going to do?" asked Bert.
"He's the man with the original grouch all right," contributed Jack.
"Where'll we go?"
"Over this way!" called Tom, who had been looking about. "I think I
see something like a gate leading into a lane. It may take us to a
road. Come on."
They followed him, splashing through the mud puddles and darkness.
Then came a flash of lightning, which showed them the lane in question.
It did lead into the road, and a little later they were on the river
highway, headed toward the Hall.
"Let's run and get warmed up," proposed Bert, and they set off on a dog
trot.
"I wonder if any of the others are as badly off as we are?" spoke Jack.
"I hope not," came from George.
"I suppose we're out of the running," remarked Bert. "It must be after
eight."
"Half-past," said Tom, managing to see the dial of his watch by a
lightning flash.
"Ugh!" grunted Jack. "It's all up with us."
In silence they plowed on, and a little later they saw the welcome
lights of Elmwood Hall.
"Humph! Late, young gentlemen," remarked Mr. Porter, the proctor, as
they filed in the gate. "Report to Doctor Meredith at once."
"It was an accident--we got lost," explained Bert.
"And a crusty old farmer wouldn't show us the road," added Tom.
"I'm sorry, but I can't help it. Report to the doctor," was all the
satisfaction they received.
But the head master was not at all unkind about it. He listened to
their explanation, and consoled them for their ill luck.
They managed to get something to eat, and then, paying a surreptitious
visit to the rooms of some of their chums, they learned that they were
fully three-quarters of an hour later in coming back than were the last
of the stragglers.
"Did Sam and Nick make good time?" asked Tom, of the football captain.
"Very good, yes. They were among the first ones in. I'm sorry about
you boys."
"I suppose we're out of the game," hinted Jack.
"Well, not altogether, but it'll set you back. However, I'll do what I
can. Better turn in now. You must be tired."
"Tired isn't a name for it!" groaned Bert. "I'll sleep like a
locomotive to-night."
They were all slumbering almost as soon as they tumbled into bed, and,
though they had been well soaked, they experienced no ill effects the
next morning.
To their delight the football captain and coach said nothing about
their ill-luck in being outside the time limit for the cross-country
run, and they went to practice as usual.
"Huh! I wonder if they call that fair?" sneered Sam, when he saw his
enemy, and the latter's friends, in their usual places.
"It's not right," asserted Nick, "after we made the run, and got in on
time."
"Well, you didn't get lost in the woods," said George Abbot, who was at
least on speaking terms with Sam and his crony. "A farm fellow told us
to take the wrong road to avoid a hill."
"Did he?" asked Sam, and there was a trace of a smile on his face.
"Well, you can't always trust farm hands," and he nudged Nick in the
ribs, though George did not see it.
Two days later Doctor Meredith called Tom to his office.
"There has been a complaint made against you," said the school head.
"Trampling down the corn of one--er--Jed Appleby----" went on Doctor
Meredith, reading from a memoranda. "He says you agreed to pay for it,
and his bill is--ten dollars!"
"What!" cried Tom. "We didn't do half that damage! But I'm willing to
pay."
"And after this, please be careful not to annoy the farmers hereabout,"
warned the head of the school. "We have to guard against the students
doing that."
"I'll be careful," promised Tom grimly. "Ten dollars! Whew!" he
exclaimed, as he took the bill and went out. "If he got a dollar he'd
be getting more than the corn we trampled was worth. But I'll not
dispute it. Only I'll get square with him," he boasted to his chums.
On going to pay the amount assessed against him, Tom found that the
possessions of Mr. Appleby extended to within a short distance of the
school grounds. At least one of the farmer's hay fields did, being
connected to a main road by a long lane.
"And if he'd been decent," mused Tom, on his way back, after settling
the score, "he could have shown us the way through his hay field, and
we might have gotten into the Hall on time. The old grouch!"
He cut through the lot, passing a big pile of hay that was stacked and
thatched for winter.
"Well, did you fix him up?" asked Jack, as his chum entered the room on
his return.
"I did--worse luck to him. Some day we'll have to have the white-caps
visit him, or treat him to a coat of tar and feathers. It isn't the
ten dollars that I mind so much as it is being gouged by a farmer.
I'll get square though!"
It was several nights after this that Tom, gathering up some packages
from his dresser, slipped on his coat and cap.
"Where you going?" asked Jack, yawning and tossing aside a book he had
been pretending to study.
"Oh, just out for a walk," replied Tom, evasively.
"Want any company?"
"I'll be right back," was the remark, which would seem to indicate that
company was not desired.
"All right. Bring me back some peanuts if you go past Pop's place,"
and Jack tossed over a dime.
Tom's chums were in bed when he returned, and without awakening them,
as he supposed, he undressed in the dark and tumbled into his cot.
"That you, Tom?" murmured Jack sleepily.
"Yes."
"What smells so queer? Have you been smoking?"
"No, but I came home in a trolley and there were some fellows in it
hitting the pipe."
"Oh, I thought it couldn't be you," for neither Tom nor his chums used
the weed.
Jack turned over, and was soon breathing heavily, and Tom, too, was not
long in getting to sleep.
It was Bert who awakened them some hours later.
"Hello fellows!" he called. "There's a fire somewhere. I can see the
reflection of it on the windows."
They all jumped up, and Jack, going to the casement, exclaimed:
"It isn't here. None of the school buildings are ablaze."
"No, it's over that hill," said Bert. "I have it!" he cried. "Some of
Farmer Appleby's hay ricks are on fire, or maybe a barn. Come on
fellows, let's help put 'em out!"
"Oh, what's the use?" asked Tom. "It serves him right. He gouged us
enough to pay for a ton of hay anyhow. Let it burn!"