STUBBY
The road was dark and lonely. From far away came the dismal hoot of an
owl. Gale shivered as she leaned her bicycle against a tree and turned
to Bruce.
“He might have picked a better spot for us to meet his mechanic,” she
whispered.
“It isn’t very cheerful, is it?” Bruce managed a laugh. “But there is no
one here but us.”
“How do you know?” she countered.
“Because anyone else would have enough sense to stay out of the woods at
this hour,” he declared.
Bruce took her hand in his warm grasp and they started across a small
open place. In the distance between the trees ahead they could see the
tumbling ruins of the deserted spring house.
“Don’t be frightened,” Bruce said kindly.
“I’m not frightened,” Gale said indignantly. “But—do you suppose those
plans are as important as he says?”
“Of course they are,” Bruce said. “He knows what he is talking about. He
invented the motor, didn’t he?”
“You don’t suppose anyone might try to take them away from us?” Gale
murmured in awe, watching the dark shadows around her.
“Certainly not,” Bruce declared. “Don’t you see, that is why he wanted
us to take them. No one would suspect us of having them.”
Gale considered this logic for a moment and was forced to admit it was
the obvious conclusion. Who might know they were carrying the important
plans? Her thoughts promptly said no one, but she looked about at the
ominous shadows and was uncertain. The moon had disappeared behind a
bank of clouds. The trees were sighing and whistling in the night wind.
“Well, here we are,” Bruce announced. “I don’t see anyone,” he added.
As if in answer to his words a figure appeared from the dark ruins of
the spring house behind them.
“H-Hello,” Bruce said in surprise.
The man came toward them, his hat pulled forward so as to shield his
face from view. He held out his hand.
“I’ll take that package,” he said in a low, gruff voice.
Bruce held it out and then pulled it back. “What time is it?” he asked,
according to the instructions he had received from Brent Stockton.
“After nine,” the man said pleasantly. “Gettin’ late for you youngsters
to be out. Give me that package and you can go home.”
“Sorry,” Bruce shook his head. “I don’t think it is for you.”
“Give it to me!” The man advanced slowly and ominously upon Bruce.
“B-Be c-careful, Bruce,” Gale whispered with difficulty.
Under cover of the darkness Bruce passed the package behind his back to
Gale. She took it and moved a few paces away.
The man’s arm shot out and Bruce was sent sprawling in the dust. The man
turned to Gale who backed slowly away. Bruce had played football too
much to stay down from such a gentle push and now he launched himself
forward in the tackle that had helped Marchton High School win so many
football games.
The man fell to the ground with Bruce on top of him. Bruce tried to
cling to his perilous position on top of his adversary but he was in sad
danger of losing his advantage when help arrived in the form of another
silent figure which came also from the ruins of the spring house. The
newcomer hauled the two apart and in the moment that Bruce was getting
to his feet the other man broke away and ran among the trees,
disappearing into the darkness.
“You let him get away!” Bruce said angrily. “You shouldn’t have!” He
looked around. “All right, Gale?”
“Yes,” she answered. “But he almost had them, didn’t he?”
“You came here to meet someone?” the new arrival asked. He was a short,
stocky, blurred figure in the darkness.
Gale thought instinctively that he must be Stubby. The name fitted him
to perfection.
“Yes,” Bruce murmured. He wondered if this were another foe or really
the man they had come to meet. “What time is it?” he asked without
further preliminary.
“’Bout seven o’clock by the stars,” the man answered.
The right answer! Gale breathed easier. Now they could be rid of the
plans.
“How long have you been here?” Bruce continued.
“Three days, come Friday,” was the answer. “Have you anything for me?”
“Yes,” Bruce almost shouted in relief. He took the package of plans from
Gale and handed them to the man. “You’re Stubby?”
He heard a low chuckle from the man. “Yes, where is Brent?”
“He said we weren’t to tell you and you must not make any attempt to
reach him,” Bruce said. “You are to start work immediately.”
“Tell him the plane is all ready for the motor. It will be ready for the
races.” The man turned away then. “Thanks,” he called over his shoulder
before he disappeared.
“We might as well go home,” Gale said with a sigh.
“We might as well,” Bruce agreed.
They went back through the woods to where they had left their bicycles
propped against a tree. They rode most of the way in silence. It was
only when they came into town and stopped before The Kopper Kettle that
Gale looked closely at her companion.
“Bruce!” she cried, half laughing, “You’ve got a black eye!”
He touched it gingerly and grinned.
“How will you explain it?” she wanted to know.
“I walked into a door—or was it a tree?” he said laughingly.
“Look,” Gale cried, “the whole gang is here.”
The Kopper Kettle was a combination sandwich shop and ice cream store
where the Adventure Girls and their especial friends were wont to gather
in much of their free time. Now the other girls, that is all but
Phyllis, were lined up on stools before the soda fountain and with them
were Peter and David. The newcomers were hailed with various cries.
“Who hit you, Bruce?”
“What a shiner!”
“Wait until Coach Garis sees that!”
“Did you do it, Gale?”
“Can’t blame it on football!”
Bruce remained mysteriously silent as to how he had acquired the bruised
eye and the others could decide on no satisfactory solution. Gale would
in no manner aid them to solve the mystery, merely looking unaccountably
delighted in their mystification. Secretly she was congratulating
herself and Bruce for coming off their mission so lightly. If Stubby had
not appeared when he had there is no telling what might have happened.