JIM BOOLUS APPEARS
The three boys slept the deep and dreamless sleep of healthy boyhood,
and only woke when the sun was streaming in at their windows.
“What do you know about that?” said Fred, as he leaped out of bed and
started dressing in a wild attempt to overcome lost time. “We were going
to get an early start, and here it is nearly eight o’clock and we’re
just getting up.”
“Well, Lee said they never had breakfast before eight or half past,”
said Bobby, “so probably if we hurry we’ll be all right anyway. There’s
no use our rushing ourselves when nobody else does.”
“Yes, but that motor boat may need some fixing,” said Fred. “Motor boats
almost always do, as far as I can see.”
“Mrs. Cartier said that this boat was in perfect order,” Bobby reminded
him.
“There never was a motor boat that was in perfect order,” retorted Fred.
“At least, that’s what I heard my uncle tell my father, and he’s had so
many of them he ought to know by this time.”
“You don’t seem very hopeful about it,” said Bobby, laughing. “But here
I am dressed before you, even though you started first. That proves that
it doesn’t pay to get excited.”
“Well, I never did anything yet that did pay,” declared Fred. “The only
kind of things I seem to know how to do are the things that _cost_
money.”
“Aw, come on and have breakfast,” said Bobby, “maybe you’ll feel better
then.”
“Well, I’m willing to find out, anyway,” grinned Fred, and the two
sallied forth in the direction of the breakfast room. At the head of the
stairs they almost bumped into Lee as he came tearing around a corner.
“Confound it!” exclaimed the Southern lad, “I’ve pretty near killed
myself hurrying, thinking that you fellows would be all through
breakfast, by this time, and here you are just going down.”
“Yes,” said Bobby, slyly, “if we stay here much longer, we’ll be just as
lazy as the other people in this part of the world.”
“I don’t see how either one of you could get any lazier than you always
have been,” laughed Lee.
“I’m not too lazy to beat you downstairs, anyway,” said Bobby, and as
Lee instantly accepted the challenge by starting downstairs three steps
at a time, they made a tremendous racket which brought Mrs. Cartier to
the door of the breakfast room in alarm.
“Good gracious!” she exclaimed, as the boys jumped the last six steps
together and landed in a heap at the bottom. “Did you fall? Is any one
hurt?”
“I guess nobody’s hurt,” gasped Lee, as the laughing boys picked
themselves up. “We were just trying to see who could get down first. You
saw the finish, Mother—tell us who won. We’ll leave it to you.”
“I should say it was a tie,” she laughed, greatly relieved. “It looked
to me as though you all landed in a heap at the same time. Bobby seemed
to be on top, so probably he won.”
“Well, we’ll let it go at that,” grinned her son. “I wonder what Aunt
Dinah has fixed us up for breakfast.”
“Perhaps you’d better go in and see,” answered his mother, and the boys
were not slow in following her advice. The old Southern mammy had
provided in her usual bounteous manner, but the boys were in too much of
a hurry to properly appreciate all the good things spread out before
them. Even Lee hurried, with the result that in a very short time they
found themselves out at the barn, where Mose had a horse already
harnessed.
“We’ll make the best time we can, and get back early,” promised Lee, as
he and Bobby climbed into the buggy.
“All right, I’ll be waiting for you,” responded Fred, and his two
friends dashed out of the yard, upsetting the dignity of numerous hens,
who flapped wildly to right and left, squawking their protests.
“Now, if you’ll show me the motor boat, Mose,” said Fred. “I’ll look it
over and make sure everything is all right.”
“Yassuh,” said the darkey, “it’s a goodish piece from here, but Ah
reckons us kin walk it in fifteen minutes.”
“Guess I can stand it if you can,” said Fred, and they started out.
Meantime, Lee and Bobby had reached the dusty highroad and were going
along at a spanking pace. Their horse had been in pasture several days
with nothing to do, and seemed to enjoy a good run with nothing but the
light buggy behind him.
“If we can keep this up, it won’t take us long,” observed Bobby.
“Yes, but we can’t,” said Lee. “There is some pretty sandy going before
we hit town, and that will slow old Jerry down.”
They soon reached a bad stretch of sandy road, which was so narrow that
there was no more than room enough for one carriage. When two met, each
had to pull partly off the road in order to pass, and this happened once
or twice, the drivers of the other outfits recognizing Lee and greeting
him pleasantly.
After passing the last rig, they had gone perhaps half a mile, old Jerry
stopping at frequent intervals to rest, when they saw another buggy
approaching them. As it drew nearer, Lee gave an exclamation.
“What’s the matter?” inquired Bobby. “Anything wrong?”
Lee’s face was flushed as he pointed to the oncoming buggy.
“There comes the meanest man in the world,” he exclaimed, his voice
shaking. “That’s Jim Boolus, the fellow that’s trying to steal our
land.”
The buggies were quite close together by this time, and the man in the
other one evidently overheard Lee’s last words. He was a lean, dyspeptic
looking old fellow, and the look of hatred and rage that his face now
wore did little to improve his appearance.
“You’d better be keerful, young feller,” he snarled, as the buggies came
close, “there’s a law in the land for them as uses hard words.”
“Yes, and there’s a law for people who try to steal what doesn’t belong
to them, too,” retorted Lee. “Pull out there and let us pass, please.”