One thing he always carries with him, and that’s an old piece of storage
battery out of an automobile. He found it on the bridge and he says a
German spy left it there.
He has a black feather that he wears stuck in a button hole, because he
says it was dropped by a raven. He’s in the Raven Patrol, you know. My
sister said it dropped out of a girl’s hat.
When we got to Bennett’s we were just going to buy a couple of cones,
when who should come walking in but Grace Bronson. Grove Bronson is her
brother—he’s in our troop. He’s one of the raving Ravens, too. They’re
crazy about tracking, the Ravens are—tracking and marsh-mallows. Right
behind her, who do you think came walking in?
Oh boy, Harry Donnelle!
Maybe you don’t know him. But anyway, everybody in Bridgeboro knows him.
And if you’ve read all the crazy stuff I’ve written about our
adventures, you must know him. He’s about twenty-six years old, that
fellow is, and Mr. Ellsworth tried to get him to start a scout troop,
but he wouldn’t do it, because he said every night he has to kill a
couple of Chinamen. He was a lieutenant in France and he got the Service
Cross. He’s got red hair. I bet Grace Bronson likes him a lot—gee whiz,
you couldn’t blame her. He’s kind of happy-go-lucky, reckless—_you_
know. He’s Professor Donnelle’s son, but anyway, he’s not going to be a
professor, because there’s no adventure in it. He’s been to Samoa and
South Africa, that fellow has. He said if there was a tin spoon buried
miles and miles away, he’d go and dig it up. That’s the kind of a fellow
he is. He had jungle fever, too, and a lot of peachy things.
He always stops and speaks to us, because he likes us, so that night he
gave me a kind of a push and shoved my hat to the back of my head and
said, “What are you doing, Rob Roy? Buying out the store? How would a
_regular_ plate of cream strike you?”
“I might if I were urged,” I said.
“You don’t have to urge _me_,” Pee-wee piped up.
So then all four of us went back where the tables were and I ordered
pineapple and vanilla. Pee-wee ordered plain vanilla, because one color
always looks bigger than two.
Harry said, “Well, how are the wild adventures coming on? Been tracking
in the silent depths of Terrace Court Park lately? Any more leopards?”
I said, “Oh, we’ve been doing a lot of killing lately—killing time.”
“How’s the old car?” he said, “When are you going to have the grand
opening?”
I said, “You’d better be careful how you speak about that old car; it
has a past—a dark past.”
Grace Bronson said, “Oh, isn’t that perfectly _lovely_?”
“There’s a mystery connected with it.” Pee-wee said.
“No!” Harry said, kind of jollying Pee-wee. “How long has it been
connected?”
“Twenty-five long years,” Pee-wee said, all the while working away on
his ice cream.
“Long ones, hey?” Harry said.
“Do you know what happened to the train that car was on once?” Pee-wee
said.
“Come in on time?” Harry began laughing; because that’s one thing the
trains out our way never do.
“Worse than that,” Pee-wee said; “here read this letter that we found
way in under the stuffing of the seat.”
The kid started digging down in his pocket and pretty soon that table
looked like a church rummage sale.
“Did you _ever_?” Grace Bronson said; “what in the _world_ is _this_?”
“Take your pick,” I told her; “souvenirs of the boy scouts.”
All the while Harry Donnelle was reading the letter and I could see he
was interested, because he didn’t bother to jolly Pee-wee about all the
rest of that junk. When he was finished he didn’t say a single word,
only handed it to Grace and watched her while she read it, all the while
drumming with his fingers on the table.
“And you _found_ it?” she said. “Oh, I think it’s too romantic for
anything! Did you ever _read_ such a letter! It carries you back to the
old days. Just think how it was there all these years. Who do you
suppose Ann was? And it all happened before I was born. Isn’t that
_wonderful_!”
Harry said, “Oh, quite a few things happened before you were born.”
Then he took the letter and read it through again, and then folded it in
the old creases. Then he just said, “Humph!” After that he opened it
very carefully and laid it on the table and read it again. Then he said,
sort of as if he were thinking, “Bully old top, that fellow was. I’d
like to have known him. He seems to have been made out of pretty good
stuff.”
“And he was so _brave_,” Grace said.
Jiminies, I’ll never forget how Harry Donnelle looked that night while
he sat there studying that letter. He just kept rubbing his tongue along
his lips, and studying the paper, just as if he were trying to do an
example.
After a while he said, “Funny; wonder what became of that other chap—or
scoundrel as old Hickory-nut calls him.”
“That’s a good name for him—Hickory-nut,” I said.
“I wonder who he was,” Grace said; “and he was bringing seeds home for
his wife to plant! Isn’t that lovely where he admits he’s a rough
diamond! Oh, I think he was _splendid_.”
“He was a hero,” Pee-wee said.
“And he was bringing those seeds home to her,” Grace said, “so they
would grow up and they could have the same kind of a tree at home—oh, I
think he was just _splendid_!”
“He was a bully old cheese,” Harry said.
“He wasn’t a cheese at all,” Grace said, kind of all excited like. “He
thought more of his home than he did even of his bags of gold. Even
those seeds that he lost—oh, I think he was _fine_!”
Harry just looked at her, kind of smiling, and he said, “Thanks for your
hint; it takes a girl to see that side of it. Those seeds may come in
handy. What I was thinking about was, if that other chap——”
“He wasn’t a _chap_, he was a _villain_!” she said.
“Well, whatever he was,” Harry kept on, “if he was shot and had to limp,
how far would he get before he had to drop the bags of gold. I was
wondering if maybe he buried them. Buried treasure is the regular thing,
you know. Hey, Scout Harris? Then I was wondering if he buried it, how
somebody could find it. Just for a stunt, you know. More fun than
sitting on the porch, anyway—or playing tennis. How about that, Scout
Harris?
“I kinder like what old Hickory says about paying him in good measure
with a bullet in his leg. I have a kind of hunch he didn’t get far—in
those woods. Maybe he buried his pal and the bags at the same time—if he
was able. Be pretty good fun looking into the affair, hey? Wish I knew
who he was and where he is; then we might have something to go by. I’d
never have thought twice about those seeds if it hadn’t been for you,
Grace. How about it, you kids? Scouts are supposed to know all about
trees and things. What do you know about the Dahadinee poplar? We may be
able to bang some fun out of this letter yet. Hey, Sir Walter?”
Grace said, “I think you’re perfectly _heartless_, that’s what I think.
All you think about is the _adventure_.”
“Might as well take an auto trip in one direction as another,” Harry
said. “What’s the difference as long as we’re burning gasoline. Hanged
if _I_ know where Steuben Junction is, but I guess it’s somewhere. No
use hunting for old Hick—he may be dead. If you kids want to hunt up the
Dahadinee poplar and see what you can find out about it, I’ll hunt up
Steuben Junction, if there is such a place now. Then I’ll get a couple
of new tires and——”
“How about _me_?” Grace said.
“Oh, when we get up there we’ll send you a post-card, nice and pretty,
showing the village store,” Harry said.
“Don’t you care,” Pee-wee told her; “we’ll take Grove with us, and he’ll
tell you all about it when we get back.”