The Cabin in the Woods
Preparations for the picnic at Beach Grove on the following Saturday
were in full swing during the next few days. All the members of the
graduation class at Bayport High were enthusiastic, and the girls were
busy baking cookies and cakes. From the standpoint of Chet Morton, at
any rate, the success of the outing was therefore assured.
“As long as there’s plenty of food, it will be a good picnic,” he said.
Callie Shaw, who was Frank Hardy’s particular favorite among the girls
of the class, admitted that she felt sad at the prospect of seeing “the
crowd” broken up at last.
“We had some good times at High. Somehow, I wish now that we had all
failed so we could go back for another year.”
“You didn’t feel like that when you were writing the math exam,” Iola
Morton, Chet’s sister, reminded Callie.
“No. I suppose if I did go back I’d be grouching about the work all over
again,” laughed Callie. “I’m glad we’re going to have the picnic,
though. It will be nice to be all together again for once before the
class is scattered.”
“There won’t be many of the gang left around town by next fall,” said
Frank. “What with some going to college and others going to work, the
class will be pretty well broken up by then.”
“I hope we’ll get good weather for the picnic,” ventured Joe.
“The class had good luck on the exams,” Iola reminded him; “so we should
have good luck with the weather.”
Iola’s optimism was justified. When the day for the picnic dawned the
sky was cloudless, the day was warm and clear. Mrs. Hardy had prepared a
big basket of good things for the Hardy boys to take with them, and they
stowed the basket in the roadster along with their bathing suits and
baseball gloves. They had arranged to call for Callie Shaw in the car,
while Iola was to go with Chet in his roadster.
It was to be a real picnic—“not one of these afternoon teas,” as Chet
expressed it. All members of the class had been notified to meet at
Beach Grove by ten o’clock in the morning and when Callie and the Hardy
boys reached the grove they found a dozen others already on hand. Chet
arrived a few minutes later with Iola and Biff Hooper, whom he had
picked up on the road, and by half past ten the crowd was complete.
Beach Grove was just off the Shore Road and extended to a sandy beach on
the shore of Barmet Bay. There were many paths through the woods, a
grassy meadow which was ideal for baseball games and races, and the park
keeper had granted them permission to use a little building in the grove
where a stove and kitchen facilities were installed. The boys lit a fire
and busied themselves bringing up driftwood from the beach, while some
of the girls settled down to preparing lunch and opening up the numerous
baskets at their disposal.
The Hardy boys and the other lads went down to the beach for a swim
before lunch, and had some fine sport on an improvised raft which they
took turns in defending against all comers. Chet Morton became unduly
ambitious and tried to improvise a sailboat out of a plank and an old
piece of tarpaulin he found on the shore, but the sailboat came to grief
and tipped Chet into the water, to the hilarious delight of his
companions.
By the time the swim was over and the boys returned to the Grove they
had developed lusty appetites for lunch, and there were loud cheers when
Callie, as chief cook, hammered a tune on a tin plate with a poker,
announcing that the meal was ready. There was hot coffee, heaping bowls
of baked beans, stacks of sandwiches, plates of potato salad, and cake
and fruit without end. The boys and girls sat beneath the trees and ate
from tin plates until they could eat no more.
Chet, alone, looked discontented when lunch was over.
“What’s the matter with you?” asked Tony Prito. “Didn’t you like it? I
thought it was the best meal I ever tasted.”
“The meal was all right,” said Chet dolefully.
“Then why are you looking so glum?”
“I never have any luck,” confessed Chet. “Something always goes wrong.”
“Didn’t you get enough to eat?” asked Callie anxiously. “There is a lot
more potato salad.”
“No, thanks. I don’t think I could eat any more potato salad—not just
now, at any rate. It was very good potato salad but I couldn’t eat any
more right now. Maybe in an hour or so—oh, well, it doesn’t matter.”
“If the meal was all right and you got enough, what’s all the trouble?”
asked Frank Hardy.
“I saw you take three helpings of beans,” added Joe.
“That’s why I feel so badly.”
“Got a tummy-ache?” asked Iola solicitously.
“No. But, you see, I liked the beans so well that I took two helpings
after the first one, and I liked the potato salad so well I took two
helpings of that, extra, and then I saw some sandwiches I liked real
well and I ate about a dozen of them, and then somebody passed around
angel food cake so I ate that, and then I didn’t have any room for
anything else.”
“I think you did very well,” remarked Jerry Gilroy. “I don’t see where
you have any kick coming.”
“I like chocolate cake. It’s my favorite cake,” declared Chet gloomily.
“There was plenty of chocolate cake,” said his sister. “There are two
chocolate cakes left right now.”
“Save ’em for supper,” advised Chet. “That was the big trouble. I like
chocolate cake so well that I feel bad because I was so full by the time
it reached me I couldn’t eat any.”
The others looked at one another helplessly.
“What can you do with a fellow like that?” demanded Phil Cohen. “He’s
never satisfied.”
“I think he needs exercise,” said Iola threateningly.
“Now, don’t!” pleaded Chet, who had found a soft spot beneath a shady
tree and was preparing to go to sleep.
“Maybe you boys don’t know it,” said Iola, “but I do. Chet is ticklish!”
“Don’t, Iola!” clamored the victim.
But Iola advanced on her brother and tickled him until he yelled for
mercy, whereat the others, delighted at the exposure of this secret,
pounced on the luckless Chet and rubbed his ribs until he was forced to
make his escape. They chased him through the meadow, shouting with
laughter, and back and forth among the trees until he could run no
longer.
“It’ll help him digest those three helpings of beans and potato salad,”
said Iola, without sympathy.
Having concluded their attentions to Chet, the classmates organized an
impromptu program of sports, with races, a ball game and a blindfold
boxing match between Biff Hooper, Jerry Gilroy, Phil Cohen and Tony
Prito, which ended without casualties. Biff, who prided himself on his
boxing ability, wandered away from the others and tackled a large tree,
under the impression that it was Jerry. After dealing a dozen terrific
blows without knocking out the enemy he tore off the blindfold and then
looked very sheepish.
Most of the others went swimming during the afternoon, but the Hardy
boys had decided to take advantage of the opportunity and investigate a
mysterious little cabin at the far end of the grove. They had often been
curious about the place, and it was Frank’s suggestion that perhaps the
cabin was used as a hiding place for smugglers that prompted their
decision to visit the place.
“May we come, too?” asked Callie Shaw, as the two boys were starting off
together. She and Iola had remained behind to clear up the last of the
picnic dishes while the other girls went swimming.
“Glad to have you,” answered Frank.
“Come on, Iola.”
The two girls went running across the grass, and the four young people
set out down a winding path beneath the trees.
“Where are you going, Frank?” Callie inquired.
“We thought we’d take a walk over to that little cabin at the east end
of the grove. Joe and I have often been curious about that place, but
we’ve never been near it; so we thought this was as good a chance as
any.”
“Oh, this is thrilling!” declared Iola. “Do you think there’s anything
suspicious about it?”
Joe shrugged. “Perhaps. It will be fun to look the place over, though.
We thought it might be used by smugglers.”
“Smugglers!” exclaimed Callie, stopping. “I’m frightened. I don’t think
I care to go after all. I don’t want to meet any smugglers.”
“Nonsense!” laughed Frank. “There wouldn’t be any smugglers around at
this time of day, anyway. We’re not sure about the smugglers in any
case. Perhaps it’s just a perfectly innocent tumbledown old shack, with
nothing strange about it at all.”
Callie gathered up courage and they went forward again. The little cabin
was at the extreme end of the grove, and it was some time before they
came within sight of it. Finally, rounding a bend in the path, they
caught a glimpse of the place among the trees. The cabin had been built
in the woods, several hundred yards back from the water.
“Mighty dingy looking cabin, it seems to me,” remarked Iola.
“Why, there are some smugglers now!” exclaimed Callie, wide-eyed. “Don’t
you see them, Frank? Down in the bushes. Look, they’re going up toward
the cabin!”
Frank called a halt.
“Just a minute!”
He could see three men making their way up a path in the direction of
the cabin. The trio were apparently unaware that they were being
watched, for they did not look around. For a moment they were hidden by
the intervening branches. Then they appeared in view again. One of the
men halted in front of the cabin, removed a key from his pocket, and
unlocked the door.
The three men disappeared inside.
Frank turned to the others.
“I think we’d better go back,” he said quietly.
“Were they smugglers?” demanded Callie. “Let’s get out of here. They
might start some trouble.”
They turned and retraced their steps toward the picnic grounds. Once Joe
said:
“Do you know, I’m sure I recognized one of those chaps.”
Frank flashed him a warning look.
He did not want to alarm the girls, so he had said nothing. But Frank,
too, had recognized one of the men, and he was none other than Giles
Ducroy!