HUNTING FOR TROUBLE
But anyway this story isn’t all nonsense, and you’ll see it isn’t. And
you’ll see that a tangled trail can be something else than just a crazy
left-handed hike, too.
On the road to Greenvale we passed a summer boarding-house named Shady
Villa. There was a big sign across the private roadway to it. Hervey
reached up with a muddy stick (that fellow always carries a stick) and
marked an N after Villa. “Shady Villan,” he said.
“Rub that out,” Brent said. “If you don’t know how to spell villain I
wouldn’t advertise it to the whole world. That’s the trouble with you,
you’re always having bad spells.”
We sat on the railing there and watched some people playing tennis. Gee
whiz, it made me wish for a game. It was just kind of before twilight,
and the sun was a great big red ball.
For a little while I sort of wished we were on our way to camp instead
of on our way away from it. It seemed funny not to be going home at that
time. Suppers are dandy at Temple Camp. I don’t know, I felt a little
funny because it seemed as if we had no right to keep going like that as
long as the day was over. I kind of wished we had ’phoned at Brookside.
I could see Brent was a little worried too. He said, “Come on, let’s
beat it for Greenvale and find a ’phone.”
The only one that didn’t care was Hervey. Because he never cares. He
just thinks about what’s happening and not about what’s going to happen.
No one can change him, that’s what Uncle Jeb says. A lot of times he has
been in trouble on account of that. Even then he was on probation, but
he should worry, because he was having plenty of fun. “One place is as
good as another, if not better,” that’s what he says.
Once he stayed all night at a gypsy camp, and once he rode up to Albany
with a peddler. Outside of us his best friend was Sandwich, because
Sandwich didn’t have any rules. He’d leave any of us to follow Hervey.
So we started off again, and it was about half-past six when we got to
Greenvale.
Hervey said, “Foiled again, the ’phone is on the right, it’s in the
station.”
“I’m going to get a chocolate sundae,” Pee-wee called out.
“You can’t,” Warde told him. “There are no Sunday trains. Stung again.
This is a good place to eat supper, we can just sit down around the
time-table.”
“No stops,” Hervey said, hiking right along. “Carnival next stop.”
“Just a minute,” Brent said; “we’re going to ’phone from that station.”
“And be ordered home,” Hervey said. “Nix on that.”
“We’re going to ’phone,” Brent said, “so that settles it.”
“It settles us, all right,” Hervey said. He didn’t seem mad or
disgruntled, he seemed just happy-go-lucky, the way he always is. Anyway
I couldn’t see that he was sore about it. The kid was sore because he
couldn’t get a soda, but Hervey wasn’t. When I thought about it
afterward—after what happened—I remembered that he wasn’t mad. I guess I
never saw him really mad anyway. He just said, “We’re making the mistake
of our lives, Gaylong. Safety first.”
“That’s just what I say,” Brent laughed.
“If it’s got to be did, I’ll did it,” said Hervey. And he just kept on
marching right around and over toward the station.
Warde said, “You ought to be the one to talk, Brent.”
“What’s the difference?” Brent said. Then he called, “Hey, Hervey, do
you know what number to ask for?”
“I’ll ask her what number she’s got,” he called back. “I’ll pick out a
nice one.”
“Tell them we’re going to the carnival in Greenvale if it’s all right,”
Brent called to him. “Tell them we’ll be home at about eleven.”
“Better make it twelve, hey?” Hervey called. “I’ll make it one, that’s
easier to remember.”
“Eleven, I said,” Brent called. “Ask for Leeds two-seven.”
“All right, old Doctor Gaylong,” Hervey called back.
“That’s just like him,” Warde said. “He doesn’t even know the camp’s
’phone number.” We all sat on the fence across the road from the station
and waited.