BOBBY HEARS BAD NEWS
“Another cup of coffee, please, Norah,” said Father Blossom.
It was breakfast time, and the four little Blossoms had each made a
separate trip to the door and back, before taking seats at the table,
to see if it “wasn’t going to snow.” Father Blossom had finally said
that no one was to open the door again and that he would like to eat
breakfast once with his family when he did not feel that he had to
hurry.
“Aren’t you going directly to the foundry, then?” asked Mother Blossom,
sugaring Dot’s oatmeal for her.
“No, I have an errand in town first,” replied Father Blossom. “By the
way, Sam tells me a carpenter shop burned down last night.”
“Mr. H. Bennett’s carpenter shop?” asked Bobby in surprise. Then he
flushed a bright red.
“Why, yes, it was Bennett’s,” said Father Blossom, glancing curiously
at Bobby. “What do you know about the place, Son?”
“Nothing much,” muttered Bobby. “It’s over by Bertrand’s house.”
“Was it much of a loss, dear?” asked Mother Blossom.
“I believe it was,” replied Father Blossom, and Bobby listened eagerly.
“Several hundred dollars’ worth of valuable tools and some building
plans and considerable cabinet work was destroyed, Sam says. The only
thing saved was a cat.”
It was on the tip of Bobby’s tongue to add, “a gray and white one,” but
he stopped himself just in time.
“There’s Fred Baldwin whistling for me,” he said instead. “He wants me
to come and play. May I be excused, Mother?”
“Mother, Bobby never plays with us any more,” complained Twaddles. “He
ought to stay in our yard some, don’t you think? All he cares about now
is playing football.”
“I don’t mind the football,” said Mother Blossom smiling. “But I do
wish the boys wouldn’t come and whistle outside the house when we are
eating, Bobby. I like you to stay at the table till a meal is properly
finished.”
“Well, I will next time,” promised Bobby, throwing his arms about her
and giving her a hug.
The twins took the opportunity to help themselves to marmalade and when
the scandalized Norah and Meg drew attention to the mountain of sweet
stuff on the two plates, Bobby ran off while Twaddles and Dot were
loudly protesting that they had only taken a “tiny bit.”
“Hello, Bobby!” said Fred, as Bobby came running down the path. “Say,
did you know the carpenter shop burned down last night?”
“Daddy told me,” replied Bobby. “I thought I heard fire engines when I
woke up. It’s lucky they saved the cat.”
The boys were walking up the street and now Fred turned and looked at
Bobby.
“Mr. Bennett thinks we set it on fire,” he said in a low tone, and
glancing over his shoulder as though he expected to see the owner
of the carpenter shop behind him. “He heard we were in his shop
yesterday.”
“Well, suppose we were--we didn’t set it on fire!” said Bobby crossly.
He was cross because he was worried. It is not very pleasant to be told
that someone suspects you of setting his shop on fire.
“No, of course we didn’t,” agreed Fred. “But you know Bertrand says Mr.
Bennett doesn’t like boys, and I suppose if he had caught us in there
he would have been awfully mad. And now he knows we were in there, he’s
sure we did it.”
“Who told him we were in his shop?” asked Bobby suddenly.
“Bertrand says some of the neighbors saw us climb in,” explained Fred.
“Bertrand’s over at my house now, waiting for us. He told me. And
Palmer Davis is there, too, and Elmer Lambert.”
Bobby and Fred found the other three boys in Fred’s yard. They looked
serious and no one suggested football. Evidently Bertrand had been
telling them more about Mr. Bennett.
“He’s so mad,” reported Bertrand when he saw Fred and Bobby, “he’s so
mad, I don’t dare go on that side of the street. I saw it burning last
night--everybody on our street woke up when the engines came. And a
solid mahogany china closet he was carving was burned, and my father
says he never had any insurance.”
“But we didn’t burn his shop,” argued Bobby. “Look how long ago we
were in there--yesterday morning and it never burned down till late at
night. Doesn’t that show we didn’t do it?”
“Well, Mr. Bennett says maybe we tipped over oil or varnish or
something and it took a long time to soak into the wood and then it
caught fire from the stove he had in the corner,” explained Bertrand.
“Did he tell you that?” demanded Bobby.
“Oh, my no!” said Bertrand, looking frightened at the idea. “He never
said a word to me; I wouldn’t go near him. But the man that tends our
furnace heard him and he told me. And he says Mr. Bennett has all our
names and he is going to see our fathers!”
The boys stared at each other. This was dreadful! Only Elmer Lambert
smiled.
“I’m going home this afternoon,” he said. “Gee, I’m sorry for the rest
of you.”
“I’m going to tell my father right away!” cried Bobby. “I’ll go out
to the foundry before he comes home to lunch. He comes home at noon,
Saturdays.”
But Fred Baldwin sprang up angrily.
“Don’t you dare!” he said excitedly, shaking his fist at Bobby. “Don’t
you dare tell your father! He’d call up my father and then I’d catch
it. My father will be mad if he hears I went into the old carpenter
shop when the door was locked. That was all your fault, Bobby--we
wouldn’t have gone in if you hadn’t.”
“Well, he went after your ball,” said Elmer reasonably. “And I guess
your father will know you were in the shop if Mr. Bennett tells him
about it, won’t he?”
“Perhaps he won’t tell him,” said the hopeful Fred. “He may forget all
about it, or find out who really did set the shop on fire. But anyone
who tells first is mean, because my father will scold like anything.”
So Bobby promised not to tell his father and the other boys promised to
keep silent, too.
“There’s no use in making trouble,” declared Fred when the noon
whistles blew and his friends started for their homes. “Perhaps Mr.
Bennett won’t say a thing, and then think how silly we’d feel.”
But Bobby, while he may not have felt silly, certainly was feeling far
from comfortable as he walked home. And when he reached home and saw
the car in the garage, which meant that Father Blossom was home earlier
than usual, he wished that it was not Saturday. If it had been, say,
Tuesday, his father would not have come home to lunch.
“Now, Bobby, I want you to stay in the house this afternoon and play,”
said Mother Blossom cheerfully. “You haven’t been in the house hardly
an hour since the holiday began. You and Meg think of something you
want to do, and if Dot and Twaddles can play it, too, that will be
lovely. Your father and I are going over accounts and we want to have
a few hours of quiet.”
“Oh, dear, he isn’t even going anywhere,” thought poor Bobby, toiling
upstairs after Meg and the noisy twins who were headed for the
playroom. He had been hoping, during lunch, that Father Blossom would
go for a drive in the car and perhaps take Mother Blossom with him.
“What ails you, Bobby?” asked Meg when they reached the third floor
front room, given over to the four little Blossoms as a winter place
to play. “I’ve asked you twice what you want to do and you don’t say
anything.”
“There’s the doorbell,” said Bobby, running into the hall to look over
the banisters. It was only the laundryman and he came back, relieved.
“Mother says it isn’t nice to hang over the railing when the bell
rings,” said Meg reprovingly.
“I don’t care, I will if I want to,” was Bobby’s answer to this. “What
shall we play?”
“Soap bubbles,” suggested Dot, and this seemed to suit everyone, so
Meg brought out the bowls and the pipes and an apron for Dot who was
sure to need one.
The bell rang three times while Bobby was blowing soap bubbles and each
time his heart gave a fearful thump. He was afraid Mr. Bennett had come
to complain about the carpenter shop. But none of the rings brought
him, and Bobby was beginning to think the carpenter was not coming that
afternoon when suddenly he heard Norah calling him from the second
floor hall.
“Bobby!” she called. “Bobby, your father wants you right away.”
“I didn’t hear the doorbell,” said Bobby to himself as he walked slowly
downstairs. “How could he come ’thout ringing the bell?”
Bobby never doubted that Mr. Bennett had come. And he had. He had come
in his small work car and Father Blossom had seen him through the
window and had gone to the door to save him waiting in the cold. That
was why Bobby had not heard the doorbell.
Although he walked as slowly as he could, Bobby finally came to the
door of the living-room. There was no one there for Mother Blossom,
supposing that Mr. Bennett had come to talk business with Father
Blossom, had excused herself and gone upstairs to write a letter.
“In here, Son,” said Father Blossom’s voice, and Bobby saw they were in
the little back room where Father Blossom had his desk.
Mr. Bennett sat facing the door and Father Blossom sat at his desk. The
carpenter was a short, heavy man with a red face and a deep, hoarse
voice. He had small, quick blue eyes and just now they looked angry.
“Bobby,” said Father Blossom quietly, “this is Mr. Bennett whose shop
burned down last night. And he seems to think that you, and some other
boys, are responsible for the fire.”
“Think!” snorted Mr. Bennett. “Think! I don’t think anything about it;
I know those kids set the place on fire. And they’ve got to pay for it.”
Bobby had got as far as the desk and there he stood, feeling very
unhappy and a little ashamed.
“Were you in the shop at all, Bobby?” asked Father Blossom keenly.
“Yes, Daddy,” replied Bobby bravely, raising his eyes. “I went in after
the football. The window was open. And I didn’t touch a thing. None of
us did. Except the cat. We stroked her and made her purr.”
“You needn’t tell me that five boys--and I have the names of everyone
of you--could go in a tool shop and not upset things,” scolded Mr.
Bennett. “I know as well as though I’d seen you do it, some of you
kicked over turpentine and varnish and laid the foundations for the
fire.”
“We did not!” retorted Bobby. “I had to get the ball out, ’cause it
wasn’t mine. But I didn’t set your old shop----”
“That will do, Son,” interrupted Father Blossom. “You had absolutely no
right to go into Mr. Bennett’s shop in his absence and I am exceedingly
sorry to hear you did such a thing. The other boys were wrong, too, and
Mr. Bennett has a right to be angry. I don’t think you are responsible
for the fire, however, and we hope we’ll be able to convince Mr.
Bennett presently.”
“Convince me!” almost shouted the carpenter. “Why, I tell you those
boys set my shop on fire! A parcel of young ones, skylarking over my
workbench and in among my tools and varnishes--I wish I’d caught ’em at
it! I could make ’em dance! And now that boy stands there and denies
up and down he had anything to do with the fire and you expect me to
believe him. I’m going up to the police court and get warrants out for
every one of ’em, that’s what I’m going to do!” shrieked the angry
carpenter, thumping the desk.
Bobby turned pale and his knees began to wobble. But Father Blossom
only shook his head.
“I don’t think you will do that, Mr. Bennett,” he said.