CHAPTER IVAN EVENTFUL AFTERNOON"On! oh! oh!—gurgle! gurgle!blob! Help! Give us a hand—"Down Master Fred went again, and, his mouth being open, he swallowed more of the murky water of the creek than was good for him. He came up, coughing and blowing.Bobby, although forced to laugh, extended the butt of his own fish pole and Fred seized it. In half a minute he was on the bank, panting and "blowing bubbles," as Bobby said."You can laugh—""I hope so," returned Bobby, turning to give his attention to his own hook and line. "Oh!"Something was the matter down under that stump; the water was agitated. The taut line pulled in Bobby's hands."Oh! A bite!" cried he, picking up his pole. "Oh, Fred! I've hooked that old trout!"Master Martin was too much taken up with his own affairs just then to pay much attention. Bobby, all of a tremble (for he had never caught a trout over a finger long), began to "play" the fish cautiously. It seemed to be sulking down in its hole under the old stump. Bobby pulled on the line gently.Meanwhile Fred, getting his breath, began to remove his saturated garments."I guess," he grunted, "we might as well go in swimming right now. Gee! I'm wet. And these things will have to dry before I start home. Oh!"Bobby's line "gave" suddenly. Bobby uttered a yell, for he thought the trout had jumped.Whatever was on his hook shot to the surface of the brown pool. Bobby went over backward on the grass. The point of his pole stood straight up, and the hook was snapped out of the water.There was a long, black,squirmything on the hook. As Bobby squealed, the eel flopped right down into his face!"Aw! ouch! take him off!" shouted Bobby, and flung away his pole.In a second the eel was so tangled in the fishline that one might have thought it and the line had been tied into a hard knot! Fred was rolling with laughter on the bank, his wet shirt half over his head."Scubbity-yow!" he shrieked. "Now you got it. You laughed atme, Bobby Blake. See how you get it yourself."Bobby began to laugh, too. He could see that the joke was, after all, on him."And that's your big trout—ho, ho!" shouted Fred. "An old eel. Kill him with a club, Bobby. You'll never get him untangled if you don't.""And he'll wigglethentill the sun goes down. Just like a snake," declared Bobby, repeating a boyish superstition held infallible by the boys of Clinton."Oh, dear!" sighed Fred, at last pulling the wet shirt off. "I'm aching for laughing. What a mess that line's in.""And how about your own!" demanded Bobby, on a broad grin again, and pointing into the branches of the tree where Fred had flung his shiner."We're a pair of fine fishermen—I don't think!" admitted Fred, in some disgust.He got off the remainder of his wet clothing, and slipped on his trunks."You might as well do the same, Bobby," he advised, while he laid his clothing over the low bushes back from the bank of the creek, where the sun could get at them nicely. "Look at your shirt. All slime from that old eel.""I wish he'd keep still a minute," said Bobby, with some impatience. "Whatwere eels ever made for?""They're good eating, some folks think. But I'd just as lief eat snakes.""Some savages eat snakes," said Bobby, trying to keep one foot on the tail-end of the eel, and unwinding the fishline.But the next moment the squirmy creature wound itself up in the line again into a harder knot than before."Looks just like the worm he swallowed," chuckled Fred. "There! he's got the hook out of his mouth. Fling him back, Bobby!"Bobby did so, pitching eel and line into the water. There was a flop or two and the wriggling fish got free. Then Bobby hauled in his line and began to rebait the hook."I guess I'll try fishing somewhere else," he said. "I won't try here. If there everwasa trout under that stump, he's scared away.""There never was a trout where an old eel made his nest," scoffed Fred, struggling with his own line."That eel didn't belong here," announced Bobby, with confidence. "What do you bet I don't catch a trout to-day?""Never mind. I've landedonefish," chuckled Fred."Fish! what's it doing roosting in that tree, then!" demanded Bobby, giggling. "It's a bird."Fred managed to untangle his own line, and in doing so he shook the shiner out of the branches."Catch it!" he shouted. "There it goes!""Plop!" the fish went right into the pool, and with a wiggle of its tail disappeared."We're a couple of healthy fishermen," scoffed Bobby. "We land them, and then lose them.""Le's go farther down stream. We've made so much noise here that we couldn't catch anything but deaf fish—that's sure."Bobby was quite agreed to this, and Fred in his bathing trunks, leaving his wet clothing to dry on the bushes, led the way along the creek bank. Bobby followed with the can of worms.They found another quiet place and this time both took pains to cast their lines where no overhanging branches would interfere with the tips of their poles. The creek was well stocked with sunfish, yellow perch, shiners, and small brook trout. Once—"in a dog's age," Fred's Uncle Jim said—somebody landed a big trout out of one of the deeper holes in the stream.The boys fished for an hour, and both landed perch and shiners."If we get enough of them we can have a fish supper," declared Fred."At home?""Sure. We can clean them—""Who'll cook them? Our Meena won't," declared Bobby, with confidence."And I don't suppose our girl will, either. Besides, we'd have to catch a bushel to give the crowd at our house a taste, even," for there were five young Martins at Fred's house, besides himself, ranging from the baby who could just toddle around, to Fred's fourteen year old sister, Mary. There was another girl older than Fred, who was the oldest boy."Just wish Michael Mulcahey would light a fire in his stove and pan them for us," said Bobby, wistfully. "'Member, he did once!""Yes. But we haven't caught enough yet.""Hush!" murmured Bobby. "I got another bite."In a minute he had landed a nice, big sunfish. He cut a birch twig then, with a hook on the end of it, and strung his three fish. Fred did the same for his two, and the fish were let down into the cool water, and were thus kept alive.They moved farther down the creek after a bit, and tried another pool. The strings of fish grew steadily. It looked, really, as though they would have enough for supper—and it takes a right good number of such little fish to make a meal for two hungry boys.Not that they wanted food again so soon. During the afternoon they ate the rest of the lunch and some apples to stave off actual hunger!"I bet you get sunburned again," said Bobby."No, I won't. I'm in the shade all the time.""The wind will burn as well as the sun.""But I'm not in and out of the water all the time, like I was that day at Sanders' Pond. Just the same," added Fred, "I'm going into the creek now. There's a dandy place for fish just across there.""There's some stepping stones below. I'll go over with you," declared Bobby, winding up his line.Fred was not afraid of splashing himself. He ran across the stones laid in the bed of the creek. Bobby came more cautiously, but he did not see the wide grin on Fred's face as he stood on the far side and watched his chum.Bobby stepped on the rock in the middle of the stream. Just as it bore his full weight, and he had his right foot in the air, stepping to the next dry-topped rock, the one under him rolled!The red-haired boy had felt that stone "joggle" when he came across but he had leaped lightly from it. Bobby was caught unaware.He yelled, and tried to jump, but the stepping stone, under which the action of the water had excavated the sand, turned clear over. "Splash!" went Bobby into the water.He stood upright, but he was in a pool over his knees, and the agitated water splashed higher. His knickerbockers were as wet as Fred's clothes had been when he waded out."Oh, oh, oh!" shouted Fred, writhing on the grass. "Aren't you clumsy? Now you'll have to take offyourclothes to dry, Bobby.""You might have told a fellow that rock was loose," grumbled Bobby."And you might have toldmethat I was stepping off into the old creek when I was jerking at my line," retorted Fred. "I got it worse than you did."Bobby removed his trousers and wrung them out. Then he put them on again. "They'll dry as good on me, as off," he said. "Now, come on. Let's go up along and see if we can't get some more fish."They whipped the creek for half a mile up stream, and were successful beyond their hopes. Both boys had a nice string of pan-fish when they came to the deep swimming hole, which was only a few yards below the corner of Plunkit's farm Sphere the apple tree stood.The sun was then sliding down toward the western horizon. Bobby's trousers were pretty well dried. He put on his bathing trunks, and followed Fred into the pool.Both boys were good swimmers. There was a fine rock to dive from and a soft, sandy bottom. No danger here, and for an hour the chums had a most delightful time.Then Bobby brought his own clothes across to the side of the creek where they had begun to fish. Fred brought the fishing-tackle and the two strings of fish. Then he trotted down the bank to get his own clothes and their shoes and stockings.Bobby was half dressed when he heard his chum shouting. "Bobby! Bobby!" shrieked the red-haired boy.Fearing that his chum was in trouble, Bobby started for the sound of Fred's voice, on a hard run."I'm coming, Fred! Hold on!" he shouted, as loudly as he could.In a few moments he came out into the open place where Fred had carefully arranged his clothing on the low bushes. There wasn't a garment there, and Fred came out of the brush, his face very red and angry."What's the matter?" asked Bobby."Matter enough!" returned his chum. "Don't yousee?""Not—not your clothes gone?" gasped Bobby."Yes they are. Every stitch. And your shoes, too. What do you think ofthat?""Why—why—Somebody's taken them?""Of course somebody has. And it's your fault," said Fred, very much provoked. "If you had helped me pitch in and lick that Ap Plunkit, he wouldn't have dared do this.""Maybe—maybe he'd have licked us," stammered Bobby."He'll—he'll just have to lick me when I meet up with him next time, or else he'll take the biggest lickingheever took," threatened the wrathful Master Martin, wiping a couple of angry tears out of his eyes with a scratched knuckle.CHAPTER VTHE TALE OF A SCARECROW"My goodness! you can't go home that way," said Bobby Blake, faintly.He did not laugh at all. The situation had suddenly become tragic instead of comic. Fred could not walk back to Clinton in his bathing-trunks—that is, not until after dark."I wish I had hold of that Ap Plunkit," repeated Fred Martin. "Hedid it," he added."Oh, we don't know—""Of course we do. He sneaked along there after us and found my clothes, and ran away with them—every one. And your shoes and stockings, too!""No he didn't, either!" cried Bobby, suddenly, staring up into the tall tree over their heads."Eh?""There are the shoes and stockings—shoes, anyway," declared Bobby, pointing.It was a chestnut tree above their heads. It promised a full crop of nuts in the fall, for the green burrs starred thickly the leafy branches.Whoever had disturbed the chums' possessions had climbed to the very tip-top of the chestnut and hung the two pair of shoes far out on a small branch."That's Ap Plunkit's work—I know," declared Fred, with conviction. "He climbs trees like a monkey. You see how long his arms are. I've seen him go up a taller tree than this.""Maybe he's taken your clothes up there, too," said Bobby, going to the trunk of the tree."The mean scamp!" exclaimed Fred. "How'll we get them, Bob? I—I can't climb that tree this way.""Neither can I," admitted his friend. "But wait till I run and get my clothes on—""And you'dbetterrun, too!" exclaimed Fred, suddenly, "or you won't find the rest ofyourclothes."Thus advised, Bobby Blake set out at once for the spot where he had been dressing. There was no sign of Applethwaite Plunkit about—or of any other marauder. Just the same, when Bobby was dressed and went down the creek side again to Fred, he carried all their possessions with him.That chestnut was a hard tree for Bobby to climb—especially barefooted. There were so many prickly burrs that had dropped into the crotches of the limbs, and, drying, had become quite stiff and sharp. He had to stop several times as he mounted upward to pick the thorns from his feet.But he got the shoes and stockings, and, hanging them around his neck, came down as swiftly as he could. Both boys at once sat down and put on this part of their apparel. Fred was almost tempted to cry; but then, he was too angry to "boo-hoo" much."I'll catch that Ap Plunkit, and I'll do something to him yet," he declared. "I'll have him arrested for stealing my clothes, anyway.""How can we prove he took them? We didn't see him," said Bobby, thoughtfully."Well!""I tell you what," Bobby said. "Let's go up to his house and tell his mother. Weknowhe did this, even if we didn't see him. Of course, we got him mad first—""We didn't have to get him mad," declared Fred. "He's mad all the time.""Well, we plagued him. He just was getting square.""But such a mean trick to steal a fellow's clothes!""Maybe his folks will see it that way and make Applethwaite give them back.""But I can't go up there to the house with only these old tights on!" said Fred."No," and Bobby couldn't help grinning a little. "You wear my jacket.""And if I have lost my clothes," wailed Fred, "and have to go home this way, my father will give it to me good! Come on!""Let's each find a good club. That dog, you know," said Bobby."Sure. And if we meet up with Ap, I'll be likely to use it on him, too!" growled Fred, angrily.Bobby decided that it was useless to try to pacify his chum at the moment. It seemed to relieve Fred to threaten the absent Ap Plunkit, and it did that individual no bodily harm!So the boys found stout clubs and started up the bank of the creek. Fred was feeling so badly that he did not pick more of the "summer sweetnin's" when they came to the apple tree.They crawled through the hole in the boundary fence of the Plunkit Farm and kept on up the creek-side. First they crossed the pasture, then they climbed a tight fence and entered a big cornfield. The corn was taller than their heads and there were acres and acres of it. It was planted right along the edge of the creek bank, and they had to walk between the rows."If old Plunkit sees us in his corn, he'll be mad," said Fred, at last."This is the nearest way to the house, and we've got to try and get your clothes," said Bobby, firmly.After that, he took the lead. The nearer they approached the farmhouse, the more Fred lagged. But suddenly, in the midst of the long cornfield, Master Martin uttered a cry."Look there, Bob!""What's the matter with you? I thought it was the dog.""No, sir! See yonder, will you?""Nothing but a scarecrow," said Bobby."Yes. But it has clothes on it. I'm going to take them. I'm not going up to that house without anything more on me than what I've got."Bobby began to chuckle at that. It seemed too funny for anything to rob a scarecrow. But Fred was pushing his way through the corn toward the absurd figure.Suddenly Fred uttered another yell—this time his famous warwhoop:"Scubbity-yow! I got him!""You got who?" demanded Bobby, hurrying after his chum."This is some o' that Ap Plunkit's doings—the mean thing! Look here!" and he snatched the cap off the scarecrow's head of straw."Why—that looks likeyourcap, Fred," gasped Bobby."And itis, too.""That—that's just the stripe of your shirt!""And it is my shirt. And it's my pants, and all!" cried Fred. "I'll get square with Ap Plunkit yet—you see if I don't. There's the old ragged things this scarecrow wore, on the ground. And he's dressed it inmythings. Oh, you wait till I catch him!"Meanwhile Fred was hastily tearing off the garments that certainly were his own. They were all here. Bobby kept away from him, and laughed silently to himself. It was really too, too funny; but he did not want to make Fred angry withhim."Now I guess we'd better not go to the farmhouse—had we?" demanded Bobby."Let's go home," grunted Fred, very sour. "It's almost sundown.""All right," agreed his chum."He tore my shirt, too. And we might never have found these clothes. I'm going to get square," Fred kept muttering, as they struck right down between the corn rows toward the distant roadside fence.Just as they climbed over the rails to leap into the road they were hailed by a voice that said:"Hey there! what you doin' in that cornfield?"There was the Plunkit hopeful—otherwise Applethwaite, the white-headed boy. He sat on the top rail near by and grinned at the two boys from town."There you are—you mean thing!" cried Fred Martin, and before Bobby could stop him, he rushed at the bigger fellow.He was so quick—or Ap was so slow—that Fred seized the latter by the ankles before he could get down from his perch."Git away! I'll fix you!" shouted the farm boy.He kicked out, lost his balance, and Fred let him go. Ap fell backward off the fence into the cornfield, and landed on his head and shoulders.He set up a terrific howl, even before he scrambled to his feet. By his actions he did not seem to be so badly hurt. He searched around for a stone, found it, and threw it with all his force at Fred Martin. Fortunately he missed the town boy.Immediately Fred grabbed up a stone himself and poised it to fling at his enemy. Bobby threw himself upon his chum and seized his raised arm."Now you stop that, Fred!" he commanded."Why shouldn't I hit him? He flung one at me," declared the angry boy."I know. But he didn't hit you. And you might hit him and do him harm. Suppose you put his eye out—or something? Come on home, Fred—don't be a chump.""Aw—well," growled Fred, and threw the stone away."You know you are always getting into a muss," urged Bobby, hurrying his chum along the road toward town. "What'll you do when you go to Rockledge—""You got to go with me, Bob," declared Fred, grinning."Oh! I wish they'd let me," murmured his friend.But as far as he could see then, no circumstances could arise that would make such a wished for event possible.CHAPTER VIA FISH FRY AND A STARTLING ANNOUNCEMENTThey got home at early supper time, fish and all. But one look into the kitchen assured Bobby that it was useless to expect Meena to pan their catch for them.The "rabbit ears" stuck up on top of her head at a more uncompromising angle than ever. Mr. and Mrs. Blake had not returned from town. At a late hour Michael Mulcahey had come back with the carriage and announced that his mistress would stay in town for dinner with Mr. Blake and they were to be met at the 10:10 train.Michael had just finished cleaning the carriage and now sat with his pipe beside the stable door. He was a long-lipped Irishman, with kindly, twinkling eyes, and "ould counthry" whiskers that met under his chin, giving his cleanly shaven, wind-bitten face the look of peering out through a frame of hair."'Tis a nice string of fish ye have, byes," he said."And I s'pose we got to give them to the cats," complained Fred. "They won't cook 'em at my house, and Meena's got the toothache."Michael grinned broadly, puffing slowly at his pipe. "Clane the fish, byes. There's a pan jest inside the dure. Get water from the hydrant. Have ye shar-r-rp knives?""Oh, yes, Michael!" cried Bobby."Scale thim fish, then. I'll start a fire in my stove. An' I've a pan. Belike Meena, the girl, will give ye a bit of fat salt por-r-rk and some bread. Tell her she naden't bother with supper. We'll make it ourselves—in what th' fancy folks calls 'ally-frisco'—thoughwhyso, Idun-no," added Michael.He knocked the dottle out of his pipe and washed his hands. The boys, meanwhile, were cleaning the little fish rapidly, and whispering together. They were delighted with the coachman's suggestion. It was just what they had been hoping for. Fred even forgot his "grouch" against Applethwaite Plunkit.Bobby ventured to the kitchen door. Meena was just untying the red bandage, but the moment she caught sight of him she hesitated. She may have felt another slight twinge of "face ache.""Vat you vant?" she demanded.Bobby told her what they were going to do. Michael had his own plates, and knives and forks. He had "bached it" a good many years before he came to work for Bobby's father. Meena saw a long, quiet evening ahead of her."Vell," she said, ungraciously enough, for it was not her way to acknowledge her blessings—not in public, at least. "Vell, I give you the pork and bread. But that Michael ban spoil you boys. I vouldn't efer marry him.""What did she say?" asked the coachman when Bobby returned to the room over the harness closets in which Michael slept—and sometimes cooked."She says she won't marry you because you spoil us," declared Bobby, winking at Fred."Did she now?" quoth Michael. "So she has rayfused me again—though it wasn't just like a proposalthistime. Still—we'll count it so's to make sure."He gravely walked to a smooth plank in the partition behind the door, and picked up the stub of a pencil from a ledge. On this board was a long array of pencil marks—four straight, up and down marks, and a fifth "slantingdicular" across them. There were a great many of these marks.Each of these straight, up and down, marks meant "No," and the slanting mark meant another "No"; so that Meena's refusals of the coachman's proposal for her hand were grouped in fives."The Good Book says Jacob sarved siven years for Rachael, and then another siven. He didn't have nawthin' on me—sorra a bit! When Meena's said 'No' a thousan' times, she'll forgit some day an' say 'Yis.'"He went back to shaking the pan on the stove, in which the cubes of salt pork were sputtering. He mixed some flour and cornmeal in a plate, with salt and pepper. Wiping each of the little fish partly dry, he rolled them in the mixture, and then laid them methodically in rows upon a board. When the fat in the skillet was piping hot, he dropped in the fish easily so as not to splash the hot fat about. Then with a fork he turned them as they browned.As he forked them out of the hot fat, all brown and crispy, he laid them on a sheet of brown paper for a bit to drain off the fat. Then the boys' plates and his own were filled with the well fried fish."There's just a mess for us," said Michael, as they sat down. "For what we are about to rayceive make us tr-r-ruly grateful! Pass the bread, Master Bobby. 'Tis the appetite lends sauce to the male, so they say. Eat hearty!"Bobby and Fred had plenty of the "sauce" the coachman spoke of. After the excitement and adventures of the afternoon they had much to tell Michael, too, and the supper was a merry one.Fred had to go home at eight o'clock and an hour and a half later it was Bobby's bedtime. But the house seemed very still and lonely when he had gone to bed, and he lay a long time listening to the crickets and the katydids, and the other night-flying insects outside the screens.He heard Michael drive out of the lane to go to the station and he was still awake when the carriage returned and his father and mother came into the house. They came quietly up stairs, whispering softly, but the door between Bobby's room and his mother's dressing-room was ajar and he could hear his parents talking in there. They thought him asleep, of course."But Bobby's got to be told, my dear. I have bought our tickets—as I told you," Mr. Blake said. "We can't wait any longer.""Oh, dear me, John!" Bobby heard his mother say. "Mustwe leave him behind?""My dear! we have talked it all over so many times," Mr. Blake said, patiently. "It is a long voyage. Not so long to Para; but the transportation up the river, to Samratam, is uncertain. Brother Bill left the business in some confusion, I understand, and we may be obliged to remain some months. It would not be well to take Bobby. He must go to school. I am doubtful of the advisability of takingyou, my dear—""You shall not go without me, John," interrupted Mrs. Blake, and Bobby knew she was crying softly. "I would rather that we lost all the money your brother left—""There, there!" said Bobby's father, comfortingly. "You're going, my dear. And we will leave Bobby in good hands.""Butwhosehands?" cried his wife. "Meena can look after the house, and Michael we can trust with everything else. But neither of them are proper guardians for my boy, John.""I know," agreed Mr. Blake, and Bobby, lying wide awake in his bed, knew just how troubled his father looked. He hopped out of bed and crept softly to the door. He did not mean to be an eavesdropper, but he could not have helped hearing what his father and mother said."We have no relatives with whom to leave him," Mrs. Blake said. "And all our friends in Clinton have plenty of children of their own and wouldn't want to be bothered. Or else they are people who havenochildren and wouldn't know how to get along with Bobby.""It's a puzzle," began her husband, and just then Bobby pushed open the door and appeared in the dressing-room."I heard you, Pa!" he cried. "I couldn't help it. I was awake and the door was open. I know just what you can do with me if I can't go with you to where Uncle Bill died.""Bobby!" exclaimed Mrs. Blake, putting out her arms to him. "My boy! I didn't want you to know—yet.""He had to hear of the trip sometime," said Bobby's father."And I'm not going to make any trouble," said Bobby, swallowing rather hard, for there seemed to be a lump rising in his throat. He never liked to see his mother cry. "Why, I'm a big boy, you know, Mother. And I know just what you can do with me while you're gone.""What's that, Bobs?" asked his father, cheerfully."Let me go to Rockledge School with Fred Martin—do,do! That'll be fun, and they'll look out for me there—you know they areawfullystrict at schools like that. I can't get into any trouble.""Not with Fred?" chuckled Mr. Blake."Well," said Bobby, seriously, "you know if I have to look out for Fred same as I always do,Iwon't have time to get into mischief. You told Mr. Martin so yourself, you know, Pa."Mr. Blake laughed again and glanced at his wife. She had an arm around Bobby, but she had stopped crying and she looked over at her husband proudly. Bobby was such a sensible, thoughtful chap!"I guess we'll have to take the school question into serious consideration, Bobs," he said. "Now kiss your mother and me goodnight, and go to sleep. These are late hours for small boys."Bobby ran to bed as he was told, and this time he went to sleep almost as soon as he placed his head upon the pillow. But how hediddream! He and Fred Martin were walking all the way to Rockledge School, and they went barefooted with their shoes slung over their shoulders, Applethwaite Plunkit and his big dog popped out of almost every corner to obstruct their way. Bobby had just as exciting a time during his dreams that night as he and his chum had experienced during the afternoon previous!Nothing was said at the late Sunday morning breakfast about his parents' journey to South America. Bobby knew all about poor Uncle Bill. He could just remember him—a small, very brown, good-tempered man who had come north from his tropical station in the rubber country four years, or so, before.Uncle Bill was Mr. Blake's only brother, and most of Bobby's father's income came from the rubber exporting business, too. Uncle Bill had lived for years in Brazil, but finally the climate had been too much for him and only a few months ago word had come of his death. He had been a bachelor. Mr. Blake had positively to go to Samratam to settle the company's affairs and Bobby's mother would not be separated from her husband for the long months which must necessarily be engaged in the journey.Bobby felt that hemusttalk about the wonderful possibility that had risen on the horizon of his future, so, long before time for Sunday School, he ran over to the Martin house and yodled softly in the side lane for Fred.Fred put his head out of a second-story window. "Hello!" he said, in a whisper. "That you, Bobby?""Yep. Come on down. I got the greatest thing to tell you.""Wait till I get into this stiff shirt," growled Fred. "It's just like iron! I justhateSunday clothes—don't you, Bobby?"Bobby was too eager to tell his news to discuss the much mooted point. "Hurry up!" he threw back at Fred, and then sat down on the grassy bank to wait.He knew that Fred would have to pass inspection before either his mother or his sister Mary, before he could start for Sunday School. He heard some little scolding behind the closed blinds of the Martin house, and grinned. Fred had evidently tried to get out before being fully presentable.He finally came out, grumbling something about "all the girls being nuisances," but Bobby merely chuckled. He thought Mary Martin was pretty nice, himself—only, perhaps inclined to be a little "bossy," as is usually the case with elder sisters."Never mind, Fred," Bobby said, soothingly. "Let it go. I got something just wonderful to tell you.""What is it?" demanded Fred, not much interested."I believe something's going to happen that you've just beenhopingfor," said Bobby, smiling."That Ap Plunkit's got the measles—or something?" exclaimed Fred, with a show of eagerness."Aw, no! It isn't anything to do with Ap Plunkit," returned Bobby, in disgust."What is it, then?"So Bobby told him.CHAPTER VIIFINANCIAL AFFAIRSTwo boys in Clinton did not go to Sunday School that day with minds much attuned to the occasion. Fred could scarcely restrain himself within the bounds of decent behavior as they walked from Merriweather Street, where both the Blakes and the Martins lived, to Trinity Square, where the spire of the church towered above the elms.The thought that Bobby was going with him to Rockledge (Fred had jumped to that conclusion at once) put young Martin on the very pinnacle of delight."Of course, it would be great if your folks would take you to South America," admitted Fred, after some reflection. "For you could bring home a whole raft of marmosets, and green-and-gray parrots, and iguanas, and the like, for pets. And you'd see manatees, and tapirs, and jaguars and howling monkeys, and all the rest. But crickey! you wouldn't have the fun we'll have when we get to Rockledge School."Funseemed to be all that Fred Martin looked forward to when he got to boarding school. Lessons, discipline, and work of any kind, never entered his mind.That evening Mr. and Mrs. Blake, with Bobby, went up the street to the Martin house, and the parents of the two chums talked together a long time on the front porch, while the children were sent into the back yard—that yard that Buster Shea had cleaned so nicely the day before, being partly paid in rats!When the Blakes started home, it had been concluded that Bobby was to attend school with Fred, and that if Mr. and Mrs. Blake did not return from their long journey in season, Bobby was to be under the care of the Martins during vacation."Another young one won't make any difference here, Mrs. Blake," said easy-going Mrs. Martin. "Really, half the time I forget how many we have, and have to go around after they are all abed, and count noses. Bobby will make us no trouble, I am sure. And he always has a good influence over Fred—we've remarked that many times."This naturally made Mrs. Blake very proud. Yet she took time to talk very seriously to Bobby on several occasions during the next few days. She spoke so tenderly to him, and with such feeling, that the boy's heart swelled, and he could scarcely keep back the tears."We want to hear the best kind of reports from you, Bobby—not only school reports, but in the letters we may get from our friends here in Clinton. Your father and I have tried to teach you to be a manly, honorable boy. You are going where such virtues count for more than anything else."Be honest in everything; be kindly in your relations to the other boys; always remember that those weaker than yourself, either in body or in character, have a peculiar claim upon your forbearance. Father would not want you to be a mollycoddle but mother doesn't want you to be a bully."You will go to church and Sunday School up there at Rockledge just as you have here. Don't be afraid to show the other boys that you have been taught to pray. I shall have your father find out the hour when you all go to bed, and at that hour, while you are saying your prayers and thinking of your father and me so far away from you, I shall be praying for my boy, too!""Don't you cry, Mother," urged Bobby, squeezing back the tears himself. "I will do just as you tell me."It was arranged that Mr. Blake should take the boys to school when the time came, but there was still a fortnight before the term opened at Rockledge. Bobby and Fred had more preparations to make than you would believe, and early on Monday morning Fred came over to the Blake house and the chums went down behind the garden to have a serious talk."Say! there's fifty boys in that school," Fred said. "There's another school right across Monatook Lake. They call it Belden School. There's all sorts of games between the two schools, you know, and we want to be in them, Bobby.""What do you mean—games?" asked Bobby."Why, baseball, and football, and hockey on the ice in winter, and skating matches, and boating in the fall and spring—rowing, you know. Lots of games. And we want to be in them, don't we?""Sure," admitted his chum."It's going to cost money," said Fred, decidedly. "We'll have to get bats, and good horse-hide balls, and a catcher's mask and glove, and a pad, and all that. We want to get on one of the ball teams. You know I can catch, and you've got a dandy curve, Bobby, and a fade-away that beats anything I've ever seen.""Yes. I'd like to play ball," admitted Bobby, rather timidly. "But will they let us—we being new boys?""We'll make them," said the scheming Fred. "If we show them we have the things I said—mitt, and bats, and all—they'll be glad to have us play, don't you see?""But we haven't them," suddenly said Bobby."No. But we must have them.""Say! they'll cost a lot of money. You know I don't have but a dollar a month," said Bobby, "and I know Mother won't let me open my bank.""Of course not. That's the way with mothers and fathers," said Fred, rather discontentedly. "They get us to start saving against the time we'll want money awfully bad for something. And then we have to buy shoes with it, or Christmas presents, or use it to pay for a busted window.That'swhat cleaned out my bank the last time—when I threw a ball through Miklejohn's plate-glass window on the Square.""Well," said Bobby, getting away fromthatunpleasant subject, "I have most of my dollar left for this month, and Pa will give me another on the first day of September.""I haven't but ten cents to my name," confessed Fred."Then how'll we get new bats, and the mask, and pad, and all?""That's what we want to find out," Fred said, grimly. "We'll have to think up some scheme for making money. I wish I'd cleaned our yard Saturday instead of hiring Buster Shea.""Thatdidn't cost you much," chuckled Bobby. "Only a cent—and you couldn't have sold the five rats for anything.""Aw—well—""Let's start a lemonade stand," suggested Bobby."No. It's been done to death in Clinton this vacation," Fred declared, emphatically. "Besides, the sugar and lemons and ice cost so much. And you're always bound to drink so much yourself that there's no profit when the lemonade's gone."Bobby acknowledged the justice of this with a silent nod."Got to be something new, Bobby," urged Fred, with much belief in his chum's powers of invention. "Youthink of something.""Might have a show," said Bobby."Aw—now—Bobby! you know that's no good," declared Fred. "We'd have to let a lot of the other fellows into it. Can't run a circus—not even a one-ring one—without a lot of performers. And they'd want the money split up. We wouldn't make anything.""A peep-show," said Bobby, still thoughtfully chewing a straw."Aw, shucks! that's worse. The kids will only pay pins, or rusty nails, to seethatkind of a show.""No. That's not just what I mean," Bobby said, thoughtfully. "Let's have a show that will only need us two to run it, Fred. Then we won't have to divide the money with anybody else. And let's have a show that grown up folks will want to see.""Great, Bobby! That's a swell idea—if we could do it.""I believe wecando it.""Tell a fellow," urged Fred, excitedly. "Grown folks have money. We could charge them a nickel—maybe a dime—""No. A penny show," said Bobby, still chewing the straw. "Of course, it's got to be worth a penny—and then, it'll have to be sort of a joke, too—""Whatever are you trying to get at, Bobby Blake?" demanded his chum in wonder."Listen here. Now—don't you tell—"He pulled Fred down beside him and whispered into his ear. The red-haired boy looked puzzled at first. Then he caught the meaning of his chum's plan, and his eyes grew big and he began to grin. Suddenly he flung his cap into the air and seized Bobby round the neck to hug him."Scubbity-yow!" he yelled. "That's the greatest thing I've ever heard, Bob! And we can have it right down 'side of my father's store."Mr. Martin kept a grocery store on Hurley Street, in a one-story building on one side of which was an open lot belonging to the store property. There was a side-door to the store-building opening upon this lot, but not far back from the street.For the next two or three days Bobby and Fred were very busy indeed at this place and, with some little help, they managed to erect a structure that was made partly of old fence-boards and partly of canvas.The half-tent, half-shack was about ten feet wide. It had a sloping canvas roof. It ran back from the sidewalk far enough to mask the side-door into Mr. Martin's store.Mr. Martin was not in the secret of the nature of the boys' proposed "show," but he was a good natured man and made no objection to his son and Bobby utilizing his side door."You see, we must have an 'entrance' and an 'exit'," Bobby explained. "Folks can pass out through the store after seeing our show.""Sure," chuckled Fred. "As long as we don't call it 'egress,' nobody will be scared that it's some strange and savage animal. All right. 'Exit' it is," and he proceeded to paint the sign, per Bobby's instructions.And that was not the only sign to be painted. Fred was rather handy with a brush, and when all the sign-painting was done, Bobby pronounced the work fine.In front of the tent, Bobby had built a little platform with a box, waist high, before it. Bobby was to be the lecturer, or "ballyhoo," and was, likewise, to sell the tickets. The other boys were eaten up with curiosity about the show, but neither Bobby nor Fred would give them a chance to get a look inside the shelter after the roof was on.There was a canvas wall in the front, with a very narrow entrance. Inside that was a canvas screen so that nobody peeking into the doorway could see much of what lay beyond. They had one kerosene lamp to light the interior.They made several other arrangements for the opening of the show, and then there was nothing to do but wait for Saturday to arrive. On that day many people from out-of-town came into Clinton to market, and the Hurley Street stores were well patronized all day long. Bobby and Fred knew they would not lack a curious company outside the tent, whether they tolled many within or not.
CHAPTER IV
AN EVENTFUL AFTERNOON
"On! oh! oh!—gurgle! gurgle!blob! Help! Give us a hand—"
Down Master Fred went again, and, his mouth being open, he swallowed more of the murky water of the creek than was good for him. He came up, coughing and blowing.
Bobby, although forced to laugh, extended the butt of his own fish pole and Fred seized it. In half a minute he was on the bank, panting and "blowing bubbles," as Bobby said.
"You can laugh—"
"I hope so," returned Bobby, turning to give his attention to his own hook and line. "Oh!"
Something was the matter down under that stump; the water was agitated. The taut line pulled in Bobby's hands.
"Oh! A bite!" cried he, picking up his pole. "Oh, Fred! I've hooked that old trout!"
Master Martin was too much taken up with his own affairs just then to pay much attention. Bobby, all of a tremble (for he had never caught a trout over a finger long), began to "play" the fish cautiously. It seemed to be sulking down in its hole under the old stump. Bobby pulled on the line gently.
Meanwhile Fred, getting his breath, began to remove his saturated garments.
"I guess," he grunted, "we might as well go in swimming right now. Gee! I'm wet. And these things will have to dry before I start home. Oh!"
Bobby's line "gave" suddenly. Bobby uttered a yell, for he thought the trout had jumped.
Whatever was on his hook shot to the surface of the brown pool. Bobby went over backward on the grass. The point of his pole stood straight up, and the hook was snapped out of the water.
There was a long, black,squirmything on the hook. As Bobby squealed, the eel flopped right down into his face!
"Aw! ouch! take him off!" shouted Bobby, and flung away his pole.
In a second the eel was so tangled in the fishline that one might have thought it and the line had been tied into a hard knot! Fred was rolling with laughter on the bank, his wet shirt half over his head.
"Scubbity-yow!" he shrieked. "Now you got it. You laughed atme, Bobby Blake. See how you get it yourself."
Bobby began to laugh, too. He could see that the joke was, after all, on him.
"And that's your big trout—ho, ho!" shouted Fred. "An old eel. Kill him with a club, Bobby. You'll never get him untangled if you don't."
"And he'll wigglethentill the sun goes down. Just like a snake," declared Bobby, repeating a boyish superstition held infallible by the boys of Clinton.
"Oh, dear!" sighed Fred, at last pulling the wet shirt off. "I'm aching for laughing. What a mess that line's in."
"And how about your own!" demanded Bobby, on a broad grin again, and pointing into the branches of the tree where Fred had flung his shiner.
"We're a pair of fine fishermen—I don't think!" admitted Fred, in some disgust.
He got off the remainder of his wet clothing, and slipped on his trunks.
"You might as well do the same, Bobby," he advised, while he laid his clothing over the low bushes back from the bank of the creek, where the sun could get at them nicely. "Look at your shirt. All slime from that old eel."
"I wish he'd keep still a minute," said Bobby, with some impatience. "Whatwere eels ever made for?"
"They're good eating, some folks think. But I'd just as lief eat snakes."
"Some savages eat snakes," said Bobby, trying to keep one foot on the tail-end of the eel, and unwinding the fishline.
But the next moment the squirmy creature wound itself up in the line again into a harder knot than before.
"Looks just like the worm he swallowed," chuckled Fred. "There! he's got the hook out of his mouth. Fling him back, Bobby!"
Bobby did so, pitching eel and line into the water. There was a flop or two and the wriggling fish got free. Then Bobby hauled in his line and began to rebait the hook.
"I guess I'll try fishing somewhere else," he said. "I won't try here. If there everwasa trout under that stump, he's scared away."
"There never was a trout where an old eel made his nest," scoffed Fred, struggling with his own line.
"That eel didn't belong here," announced Bobby, with confidence. "What do you bet I don't catch a trout to-day?"
"Never mind. I've landedonefish," chuckled Fred.
"Fish! what's it doing roosting in that tree, then!" demanded Bobby, giggling. "It's a bird."
Fred managed to untangle his own line, and in doing so he shook the shiner out of the branches.
"Catch it!" he shouted. "There it goes!"
"Plop!" the fish went right into the pool, and with a wiggle of its tail disappeared.
"We're a couple of healthy fishermen," scoffed Bobby. "We land them, and then lose them."
"Le's go farther down stream. We've made so much noise here that we couldn't catch anything but deaf fish—that's sure."
Bobby was quite agreed to this, and Fred in his bathing trunks, leaving his wet clothing to dry on the bushes, led the way along the creek bank. Bobby followed with the can of worms.
They found another quiet place and this time both took pains to cast their lines where no overhanging branches would interfere with the tips of their poles. The creek was well stocked with sunfish, yellow perch, shiners, and small brook trout. Once—"in a dog's age," Fred's Uncle Jim said—somebody landed a big trout out of one of the deeper holes in the stream.
The boys fished for an hour, and both landed perch and shiners.
"If we get enough of them we can have a fish supper," declared Fred.
"At home?"
"Sure. We can clean them—"
"Who'll cook them? Our Meena won't," declared Bobby, with confidence.
"And I don't suppose our girl will, either. Besides, we'd have to catch a bushel to give the crowd at our house a taste, even," for there were five young Martins at Fred's house, besides himself, ranging from the baby who could just toddle around, to Fred's fourteen year old sister, Mary. There was another girl older than Fred, who was the oldest boy.
"Just wish Michael Mulcahey would light a fire in his stove and pan them for us," said Bobby, wistfully. "'Member, he did once!"
"Yes. But we haven't caught enough yet."
"Hush!" murmured Bobby. "I got another bite."
In a minute he had landed a nice, big sunfish. He cut a birch twig then, with a hook on the end of it, and strung his three fish. Fred did the same for his two, and the fish were let down into the cool water, and were thus kept alive.
They moved farther down the creek after a bit, and tried another pool. The strings of fish grew steadily. It looked, really, as though they would have enough for supper—and it takes a right good number of such little fish to make a meal for two hungry boys.
Not that they wanted food again so soon. During the afternoon they ate the rest of the lunch and some apples to stave off actual hunger!
"I bet you get sunburned again," said Bobby.
"No, I won't. I'm in the shade all the time."
"The wind will burn as well as the sun."
"But I'm not in and out of the water all the time, like I was that day at Sanders' Pond. Just the same," added Fred, "I'm going into the creek now. There's a dandy place for fish just across there."
"There's some stepping stones below. I'll go over with you," declared Bobby, winding up his line.
Fred was not afraid of splashing himself. He ran across the stones laid in the bed of the creek. Bobby came more cautiously, but he did not see the wide grin on Fred's face as he stood on the far side and watched his chum.
Bobby stepped on the rock in the middle of the stream. Just as it bore his full weight, and he had his right foot in the air, stepping to the next dry-topped rock, the one under him rolled!
The red-haired boy had felt that stone "joggle" when he came across but he had leaped lightly from it. Bobby was caught unaware.
He yelled, and tried to jump, but the stepping stone, under which the action of the water had excavated the sand, turned clear over. "Splash!" went Bobby into the water.
He stood upright, but he was in a pool over his knees, and the agitated water splashed higher. His knickerbockers were as wet as Fred's clothes had been when he waded out.
"Oh, oh, oh!" shouted Fred, writhing on the grass. "Aren't you clumsy? Now you'll have to take offyourclothes to dry, Bobby."
"You might have told a fellow that rock was loose," grumbled Bobby.
"And you might have toldmethat I was stepping off into the old creek when I was jerking at my line," retorted Fred. "I got it worse than you did."
Bobby removed his trousers and wrung them out. Then he put them on again. "They'll dry as good on me, as off," he said. "Now, come on. Let's go up along and see if we can't get some more fish."
They whipped the creek for half a mile up stream, and were successful beyond their hopes. Both boys had a nice string of pan-fish when they came to the deep swimming hole, which was only a few yards below the corner of Plunkit's farm Sphere the apple tree stood.
The sun was then sliding down toward the western horizon. Bobby's trousers were pretty well dried. He put on his bathing trunks, and followed Fred into the pool.
Both boys were good swimmers. There was a fine rock to dive from and a soft, sandy bottom. No danger here, and for an hour the chums had a most delightful time.
Then Bobby brought his own clothes across to the side of the creek where they had begun to fish. Fred brought the fishing-tackle and the two strings of fish. Then he trotted down the bank to get his own clothes and their shoes and stockings.
Bobby was half dressed when he heard his chum shouting. "Bobby! Bobby!" shrieked the red-haired boy.
Fearing that his chum was in trouble, Bobby started for the sound of Fred's voice, on a hard run.
"I'm coming, Fred! Hold on!" he shouted, as loudly as he could.
In a few moments he came out into the open place where Fred had carefully arranged his clothing on the low bushes. There wasn't a garment there, and Fred came out of the brush, his face very red and angry.
"What's the matter?" asked Bobby.
"Matter enough!" returned his chum. "Don't yousee?"
"Not—not your clothes gone?" gasped Bobby.
"Yes they are. Every stitch. And your shoes, too. What do you think ofthat?"
"Why—why—Somebody's taken them?"
"Of course somebody has. And it's your fault," said Fred, very much provoked. "If you had helped me pitch in and lick that Ap Plunkit, he wouldn't have dared do this."
"Maybe—maybe he'd have licked us," stammered Bobby.
"He'll—he'll just have to lick me when I meet up with him next time, or else he'll take the biggest lickingheever took," threatened the wrathful Master Martin, wiping a couple of angry tears out of his eyes with a scratched knuckle.
CHAPTER V
THE TALE OF A SCARECROW
"My goodness! you can't go home that way," said Bobby Blake, faintly.
He did not laugh at all. The situation had suddenly become tragic instead of comic. Fred could not walk back to Clinton in his bathing-trunks—that is, not until after dark.
"I wish I had hold of that Ap Plunkit," repeated Fred Martin. "Hedid it," he added.
"Oh, we don't know—"
"Of course we do. He sneaked along there after us and found my clothes, and ran away with them—every one. And your shoes and stockings, too!"
"No he didn't, either!" cried Bobby, suddenly, staring up into the tall tree over their heads.
"Eh?"
"There are the shoes and stockings—shoes, anyway," declared Bobby, pointing.
It was a chestnut tree above their heads. It promised a full crop of nuts in the fall, for the green burrs starred thickly the leafy branches.
Whoever had disturbed the chums' possessions had climbed to the very tip-top of the chestnut and hung the two pair of shoes far out on a small branch.
"That's Ap Plunkit's work—I know," declared Fred, with conviction. "He climbs trees like a monkey. You see how long his arms are. I've seen him go up a taller tree than this."
"Maybe he's taken your clothes up there, too," said Bobby, going to the trunk of the tree.
"The mean scamp!" exclaimed Fred. "How'll we get them, Bob? I—I can't climb that tree this way."
"Neither can I," admitted his friend. "But wait till I run and get my clothes on—"
"And you'dbetterrun, too!" exclaimed Fred, suddenly, "or you won't find the rest ofyourclothes."
Thus advised, Bobby Blake set out at once for the spot where he had been dressing. There was no sign of Applethwaite Plunkit about—or of any other marauder. Just the same, when Bobby was dressed and went down the creek side again to Fred, he carried all their possessions with him.
That chestnut was a hard tree for Bobby to climb—especially barefooted. There were so many prickly burrs that had dropped into the crotches of the limbs, and, drying, had become quite stiff and sharp. He had to stop several times as he mounted upward to pick the thorns from his feet.
But he got the shoes and stockings, and, hanging them around his neck, came down as swiftly as he could. Both boys at once sat down and put on this part of their apparel. Fred was almost tempted to cry; but then, he was too angry to "boo-hoo" much.
"I'll catch that Ap Plunkit, and I'll do something to him yet," he declared. "I'll have him arrested for stealing my clothes, anyway."
"How can we prove he took them? We didn't see him," said Bobby, thoughtfully.
"Well!"
"I tell you what," Bobby said. "Let's go up to his house and tell his mother. Weknowhe did this, even if we didn't see him. Of course, we got him mad first—"
"We didn't have to get him mad," declared Fred. "He's mad all the time."
"Well, we plagued him. He just was getting square."
"But such a mean trick to steal a fellow's clothes!"
"Maybe his folks will see it that way and make Applethwaite give them back."
"But I can't go up there to the house with only these old tights on!" said Fred.
"No," and Bobby couldn't help grinning a little. "You wear my jacket."
"And if I have lost my clothes," wailed Fred, "and have to go home this way, my father will give it to me good! Come on!"
"Let's each find a good club. That dog, you know," said Bobby.
"Sure. And if we meet up with Ap, I'll be likely to use it on him, too!" growled Fred, angrily.
Bobby decided that it was useless to try to pacify his chum at the moment. It seemed to relieve Fred to threaten the absent Ap Plunkit, and it did that individual no bodily harm!
So the boys found stout clubs and started up the bank of the creek. Fred was feeling so badly that he did not pick more of the "summer sweetnin's" when they came to the apple tree.
They crawled through the hole in the boundary fence of the Plunkit Farm and kept on up the creek-side. First they crossed the pasture, then they climbed a tight fence and entered a big cornfield. The corn was taller than their heads and there were acres and acres of it. It was planted right along the edge of the creek bank, and they had to walk between the rows.
"If old Plunkit sees us in his corn, he'll be mad," said Fred, at last.
"This is the nearest way to the house, and we've got to try and get your clothes," said Bobby, firmly.
After that, he took the lead. The nearer they approached the farmhouse, the more Fred lagged. But suddenly, in the midst of the long cornfield, Master Martin uttered a cry.
"Look there, Bob!"
"What's the matter with you? I thought it was the dog."
"No, sir! See yonder, will you?"
"Nothing but a scarecrow," said Bobby.
"Yes. But it has clothes on it. I'm going to take them. I'm not going up to that house without anything more on me than what I've got."
Bobby began to chuckle at that. It seemed too funny for anything to rob a scarecrow. But Fred was pushing his way through the corn toward the absurd figure.
Suddenly Fred uttered another yell—this time his famous warwhoop:
"Scubbity-yow! I got him!"
"You got who?" demanded Bobby, hurrying after his chum.
"This is some o' that Ap Plunkit's doings—the mean thing! Look here!" and he snatched the cap off the scarecrow's head of straw.
"Why—that looks likeyourcap, Fred," gasped Bobby.
"And itis, too."
"That—that's just the stripe of your shirt!"
"And it is my shirt. And it's my pants, and all!" cried Fred. "I'll get square with Ap Plunkit yet—you see if I don't. There's the old ragged things this scarecrow wore, on the ground. And he's dressed it inmythings. Oh, you wait till I catch him!"
Meanwhile Fred was hastily tearing off the garments that certainly were his own. They were all here. Bobby kept away from him, and laughed silently to himself. It was really too, too funny; but he did not want to make Fred angry withhim.
"Now I guess we'd better not go to the farmhouse—had we?" demanded Bobby.
"Let's go home," grunted Fred, very sour. "It's almost sundown."
"All right," agreed his chum.
"He tore my shirt, too. And we might never have found these clothes. I'm going to get square," Fred kept muttering, as they struck right down between the corn rows toward the distant roadside fence.
Just as they climbed over the rails to leap into the road they were hailed by a voice that said:
"Hey there! what you doin' in that cornfield?"
There was the Plunkit hopeful—otherwise Applethwaite, the white-headed boy. He sat on the top rail near by and grinned at the two boys from town.
"There you are—you mean thing!" cried Fred Martin, and before Bobby could stop him, he rushed at the bigger fellow.
He was so quick—or Ap was so slow—that Fred seized the latter by the ankles before he could get down from his perch.
"Git away! I'll fix you!" shouted the farm boy.
He kicked out, lost his balance, and Fred let him go. Ap fell backward off the fence into the cornfield, and landed on his head and shoulders.
He set up a terrific howl, even before he scrambled to his feet. By his actions he did not seem to be so badly hurt. He searched around for a stone, found it, and threw it with all his force at Fred Martin. Fortunately he missed the town boy.
Immediately Fred grabbed up a stone himself and poised it to fling at his enemy. Bobby threw himself upon his chum and seized his raised arm.
"Now you stop that, Fred!" he commanded.
"Why shouldn't I hit him? He flung one at me," declared the angry boy.
"I know. But he didn't hit you. And you might hit him and do him harm. Suppose you put his eye out—or something? Come on home, Fred—don't be a chump."
"Aw—well," growled Fred, and threw the stone away.
"You know you are always getting into a muss," urged Bobby, hurrying his chum along the road toward town. "What'll you do when you go to Rockledge—"
"You got to go with me, Bob," declared Fred, grinning.
"Oh! I wish they'd let me," murmured his friend.
But as far as he could see then, no circumstances could arise that would make such a wished for event possible.
CHAPTER VI
A FISH FRY AND A STARTLING ANNOUNCEMENT
They got home at early supper time, fish and all. But one look into the kitchen assured Bobby that it was useless to expect Meena to pan their catch for them.
The "rabbit ears" stuck up on top of her head at a more uncompromising angle than ever. Mr. and Mrs. Blake had not returned from town. At a late hour Michael Mulcahey had come back with the carriage and announced that his mistress would stay in town for dinner with Mr. Blake and they were to be met at the 10:10 train.
Michael had just finished cleaning the carriage and now sat with his pipe beside the stable door. He was a long-lipped Irishman, with kindly, twinkling eyes, and "ould counthry" whiskers that met under his chin, giving his cleanly shaven, wind-bitten face the look of peering out through a frame of hair.
"'Tis a nice string of fish ye have, byes," he said.
"And I s'pose we got to give them to the cats," complained Fred. "They won't cook 'em at my house, and Meena's got the toothache."
Michael grinned broadly, puffing slowly at his pipe. "Clane the fish, byes. There's a pan jest inside the dure. Get water from the hydrant. Have ye shar-r-rp knives?"
"Oh, yes, Michael!" cried Bobby.
"Scale thim fish, then. I'll start a fire in my stove. An' I've a pan. Belike Meena, the girl, will give ye a bit of fat salt por-r-rk and some bread. Tell her she naden't bother with supper. We'll make it ourselves—in what th' fancy folks calls 'ally-frisco'—thoughwhyso, Idun-no," added Michael.
He knocked the dottle out of his pipe and washed his hands. The boys, meanwhile, were cleaning the little fish rapidly, and whispering together. They were delighted with the coachman's suggestion. It was just what they had been hoping for. Fred even forgot his "grouch" against Applethwaite Plunkit.
Bobby ventured to the kitchen door. Meena was just untying the red bandage, but the moment she caught sight of him she hesitated. She may have felt another slight twinge of "face ache."
"Vat you vant?" she demanded.
Bobby told her what they were going to do. Michael had his own plates, and knives and forks. He had "bached it" a good many years before he came to work for Bobby's father. Meena saw a long, quiet evening ahead of her.
"Vell," she said, ungraciously enough, for it was not her way to acknowledge her blessings—not in public, at least. "Vell, I give you the pork and bread. But that Michael ban spoil you boys. I vouldn't efer marry him."
"What did she say?" asked the coachman when Bobby returned to the room over the harness closets in which Michael slept—and sometimes cooked.
"She says she won't marry you because you spoil us," declared Bobby, winking at Fred.
"Did she now?" quoth Michael. "So she has rayfused me again—though it wasn't just like a proposalthistime. Still—we'll count it so's to make sure."
He gravely walked to a smooth plank in the partition behind the door, and picked up the stub of a pencil from a ledge. On this board was a long array of pencil marks—four straight, up and down marks, and a fifth "slantingdicular" across them. There were a great many of these marks.
Each of these straight, up and down, marks meant "No," and the slanting mark meant another "No"; so that Meena's refusals of the coachman's proposal for her hand were grouped in fives.
"The Good Book says Jacob sarved siven years for Rachael, and then another siven. He didn't have nawthin' on me—sorra a bit! When Meena's said 'No' a thousan' times, she'll forgit some day an' say 'Yis.'"
He went back to shaking the pan on the stove, in which the cubes of salt pork were sputtering. He mixed some flour and cornmeal in a plate, with salt and pepper. Wiping each of the little fish partly dry, he rolled them in the mixture, and then laid them methodically in rows upon a board. When the fat in the skillet was piping hot, he dropped in the fish easily so as not to splash the hot fat about. Then with a fork he turned them as they browned.
As he forked them out of the hot fat, all brown and crispy, he laid them on a sheet of brown paper for a bit to drain off the fat. Then the boys' plates and his own were filled with the well fried fish.
"There's just a mess for us," said Michael, as they sat down. "For what we are about to rayceive make us tr-r-ruly grateful! Pass the bread, Master Bobby. 'Tis the appetite lends sauce to the male, so they say. Eat hearty!"
Bobby and Fred had plenty of the "sauce" the coachman spoke of. After the excitement and adventures of the afternoon they had much to tell Michael, too, and the supper was a merry one.
Fred had to go home at eight o'clock and an hour and a half later it was Bobby's bedtime. But the house seemed very still and lonely when he had gone to bed, and he lay a long time listening to the crickets and the katydids, and the other night-flying insects outside the screens.
He heard Michael drive out of the lane to go to the station and he was still awake when the carriage returned and his father and mother came into the house. They came quietly up stairs, whispering softly, but the door between Bobby's room and his mother's dressing-room was ajar and he could hear his parents talking in there. They thought him asleep, of course.
"But Bobby's got to be told, my dear. I have bought our tickets—as I told you," Mr. Blake said. "We can't wait any longer."
"Oh, dear me, John!" Bobby heard his mother say. "Mustwe leave him behind?"
"My dear! we have talked it all over so many times," Mr. Blake said, patiently. "It is a long voyage. Not so long to Para; but the transportation up the river, to Samratam, is uncertain. Brother Bill left the business in some confusion, I understand, and we may be obliged to remain some months. It would not be well to take Bobby. He must go to school. I am doubtful of the advisability of takingyou, my dear—"
"You shall not go without me, John," interrupted Mrs. Blake, and Bobby knew she was crying softly. "I would rather that we lost all the money your brother left—"
"There, there!" said Bobby's father, comfortingly. "You're going, my dear. And we will leave Bobby in good hands."
"Butwhosehands?" cried his wife. "Meena can look after the house, and Michael we can trust with everything else. But neither of them are proper guardians for my boy, John."
"I know," agreed Mr. Blake, and Bobby, lying wide awake in his bed, knew just how troubled his father looked. He hopped out of bed and crept softly to the door. He did not mean to be an eavesdropper, but he could not have helped hearing what his father and mother said.
"We have no relatives with whom to leave him," Mrs. Blake said. "And all our friends in Clinton have plenty of children of their own and wouldn't want to be bothered. Or else they are people who havenochildren and wouldn't know how to get along with Bobby."
"It's a puzzle," began her husband, and just then Bobby pushed open the door and appeared in the dressing-room.
"I heard you, Pa!" he cried. "I couldn't help it. I was awake and the door was open. I know just what you can do with me if I can't go with you to where Uncle Bill died."
"Bobby!" exclaimed Mrs. Blake, putting out her arms to him. "My boy! I didn't want you to know—yet."
"He had to hear of the trip sometime," said Bobby's father.
"And I'm not going to make any trouble," said Bobby, swallowing rather hard, for there seemed to be a lump rising in his throat. He never liked to see his mother cry. "Why, I'm a big boy, you know, Mother. And I know just what you can do with me while you're gone."
"What's that, Bobs?" asked his father, cheerfully.
"Let me go to Rockledge School with Fred Martin—do,do! That'll be fun, and they'll look out for me there—you know they areawfullystrict at schools like that. I can't get into any trouble."
"Not with Fred?" chuckled Mr. Blake.
"Well," said Bobby, seriously, "you know if I have to look out for Fred same as I always do,Iwon't have time to get into mischief. You told Mr. Martin so yourself, you know, Pa."
Mr. Blake laughed again and glanced at his wife. She had an arm around Bobby, but she had stopped crying and she looked over at her husband proudly. Bobby was such a sensible, thoughtful chap!
"I guess we'll have to take the school question into serious consideration, Bobs," he said. "Now kiss your mother and me goodnight, and go to sleep. These are late hours for small boys."
Bobby ran to bed as he was told, and this time he went to sleep almost as soon as he placed his head upon the pillow. But how hediddream! He and Fred Martin were walking all the way to Rockledge School, and they went barefooted with their shoes slung over their shoulders, Applethwaite Plunkit and his big dog popped out of almost every corner to obstruct their way. Bobby had just as exciting a time during his dreams that night as he and his chum had experienced during the afternoon previous!
Nothing was said at the late Sunday morning breakfast about his parents' journey to South America. Bobby knew all about poor Uncle Bill. He could just remember him—a small, very brown, good-tempered man who had come north from his tropical station in the rubber country four years, or so, before.
Uncle Bill was Mr. Blake's only brother, and most of Bobby's father's income came from the rubber exporting business, too. Uncle Bill had lived for years in Brazil, but finally the climate had been too much for him and only a few months ago word had come of his death. He had been a bachelor. Mr. Blake had positively to go to Samratam to settle the company's affairs and Bobby's mother would not be separated from her husband for the long months which must necessarily be engaged in the journey.
Bobby felt that hemusttalk about the wonderful possibility that had risen on the horizon of his future, so, long before time for Sunday School, he ran over to the Martin house and yodled softly in the side lane for Fred.
Fred put his head out of a second-story window. "Hello!" he said, in a whisper. "That you, Bobby?"
"Yep. Come on down. I got the greatest thing to tell you."
"Wait till I get into this stiff shirt," growled Fred. "It's just like iron! I justhateSunday clothes—don't you, Bobby?"
Bobby was too eager to tell his news to discuss the much mooted point. "Hurry up!" he threw back at Fred, and then sat down on the grassy bank to wait.
He knew that Fred would have to pass inspection before either his mother or his sister Mary, before he could start for Sunday School. He heard some little scolding behind the closed blinds of the Martin house, and grinned. Fred had evidently tried to get out before being fully presentable.
He finally came out, grumbling something about "all the girls being nuisances," but Bobby merely chuckled. He thought Mary Martin was pretty nice, himself—only, perhaps inclined to be a little "bossy," as is usually the case with elder sisters.
"Never mind, Fred," Bobby said, soothingly. "Let it go. I got something just wonderful to tell you."
"What is it?" demanded Fred, not much interested.
"I believe something's going to happen that you've just beenhopingfor," said Bobby, smiling.
"That Ap Plunkit's got the measles—or something?" exclaimed Fred, with a show of eagerness.
"Aw, no! It isn't anything to do with Ap Plunkit," returned Bobby, in disgust.
"What is it, then?"
So Bobby told him.
CHAPTER VII
FINANCIAL AFFAIRS
Two boys in Clinton did not go to Sunday School that day with minds much attuned to the occasion. Fred could scarcely restrain himself within the bounds of decent behavior as they walked from Merriweather Street, where both the Blakes and the Martins lived, to Trinity Square, where the spire of the church towered above the elms.
The thought that Bobby was going with him to Rockledge (Fred had jumped to that conclusion at once) put young Martin on the very pinnacle of delight.
"Of course, it would be great if your folks would take you to South America," admitted Fred, after some reflection. "For you could bring home a whole raft of marmosets, and green-and-gray parrots, and iguanas, and the like, for pets. And you'd see manatees, and tapirs, and jaguars and howling monkeys, and all the rest. But crickey! you wouldn't have the fun we'll have when we get to Rockledge School."
Funseemed to be all that Fred Martin looked forward to when he got to boarding school. Lessons, discipline, and work of any kind, never entered his mind.
That evening Mr. and Mrs. Blake, with Bobby, went up the street to the Martin house, and the parents of the two chums talked together a long time on the front porch, while the children were sent into the back yard—that yard that Buster Shea had cleaned so nicely the day before, being partly paid in rats!
When the Blakes started home, it had been concluded that Bobby was to attend school with Fred, and that if Mr. and Mrs. Blake did not return from their long journey in season, Bobby was to be under the care of the Martins during vacation.
"Another young one won't make any difference here, Mrs. Blake," said easy-going Mrs. Martin. "Really, half the time I forget how many we have, and have to go around after they are all abed, and count noses. Bobby will make us no trouble, I am sure. And he always has a good influence over Fred—we've remarked that many times."
This naturally made Mrs. Blake very proud. Yet she took time to talk very seriously to Bobby on several occasions during the next few days. She spoke so tenderly to him, and with such feeling, that the boy's heart swelled, and he could scarcely keep back the tears.
"We want to hear the best kind of reports from you, Bobby—not only school reports, but in the letters we may get from our friends here in Clinton. Your father and I have tried to teach you to be a manly, honorable boy. You are going where such virtues count for more than anything else.
"Be honest in everything; be kindly in your relations to the other boys; always remember that those weaker than yourself, either in body or in character, have a peculiar claim upon your forbearance. Father would not want you to be a mollycoddle but mother doesn't want you to be a bully.
"You will go to church and Sunday School up there at Rockledge just as you have here. Don't be afraid to show the other boys that you have been taught to pray. I shall have your father find out the hour when you all go to bed, and at that hour, while you are saying your prayers and thinking of your father and me so far away from you, I shall be praying for my boy, too!"
"Don't you cry, Mother," urged Bobby, squeezing back the tears himself. "I will do just as you tell me."
It was arranged that Mr. Blake should take the boys to school when the time came, but there was still a fortnight before the term opened at Rockledge. Bobby and Fred had more preparations to make than you would believe, and early on Monday morning Fred came over to the Blake house and the chums went down behind the garden to have a serious talk.
"Say! there's fifty boys in that school," Fred said. "There's another school right across Monatook Lake. They call it Belden School. There's all sorts of games between the two schools, you know, and we want to be in them, Bobby."
"What do you mean—games?" asked Bobby.
"Why, baseball, and football, and hockey on the ice in winter, and skating matches, and boating in the fall and spring—rowing, you know. Lots of games. And we want to be in them, don't we?"
"Sure," admitted his chum.
"It's going to cost money," said Fred, decidedly. "We'll have to get bats, and good horse-hide balls, and a catcher's mask and glove, and a pad, and all that. We want to get on one of the ball teams. You know I can catch, and you've got a dandy curve, Bobby, and a fade-away that beats anything I've ever seen."
"Yes. I'd like to play ball," admitted Bobby, rather timidly. "But will they let us—we being new boys?"
"We'll make them," said the scheming Fred. "If we show them we have the things I said—mitt, and bats, and all—they'll be glad to have us play, don't you see?"
"But we haven't them," suddenly said Bobby.
"No. But we must have them."
"Say! they'll cost a lot of money. You know I don't have but a dollar a month," said Bobby, "and I know Mother won't let me open my bank."
"Of course not. That's the way with mothers and fathers," said Fred, rather discontentedly. "They get us to start saving against the time we'll want money awfully bad for something. And then we have to buy shoes with it, or Christmas presents, or use it to pay for a busted window.That'swhat cleaned out my bank the last time—when I threw a ball through Miklejohn's plate-glass window on the Square."
"Well," said Bobby, getting away fromthatunpleasant subject, "I have most of my dollar left for this month, and Pa will give me another on the first day of September."
"I haven't but ten cents to my name," confessed Fred.
"Then how'll we get new bats, and the mask, and pad, and all?"
"That's what we want to find out," Fred said, grimly. "We'll have to think up some scheme for making money. I wish I'd cleaned our yard Saturday instead of hiring Buster Shea."
"Thatdidn't cost you much," chuckled Bobby. "Only a cent—and you couldn't have sold the five rats for anything."
"Aw—well—"
"Let's start a lemonade stand," suggested Bobby.
"No. It's been done to death in Clinton this vacation," Fred declared, emphatically. "Besides, the sugar and lemons and ice cost so much. And you're always bound to drink so much yourself that there's no profit when the lemonade's gone."
Bobby acknowledged the justice of this with a silent nod.
"Got to be something new, Bobby," urged Fred, with much belief in his chum's powers of invention. "Youthink of something."
"Might have a show," said Bobby.
"Aw—now—Bobby! you know that's no good," declared Fred. "We'd have to let a lot of the other fellows into it. Can't run a circus—not even a one-ring one—without a lot of performers. And they'd want the money split up. We wouldn't make anything."
"A peep-show," said Bobby, still thoughtfully chewing a straw.
"Aw, shucks! that's worse. The kids will only pay pins, or rusty nails, to seethatkind of a show."
"No. That's not just what I mean," Bobby said, thoughtfully. "Let's have a show that will only need us two to run it, Fred. Then we won't have to divide the money with anybody else. And let's have a show that grown up folks will want to see."
"Great, Bobby! That's a swell idea—if we could do it."
"I believe wecando it."
"Tell a fellow," urged Fred, excitedly. "Grown folks have money. We could charge them a nickel—maybe a dime—"
"No. A penny show," said Bobby, still chewing the straw. "Of course, it's got to be worth a penny—and then, it'll have to be sort of a joke, too—"
"Whatever are you trying to get at, Bobby Blake?" demanded his chum in wonder.
"Listen here. Now—don't you tell—"
He pulled Fred down beside him and whispered into his ear. The red-haired boy looked puzzled at first. Then he caught the meaning of his chum's plan, and his eyes grew big and he began to grin. Suddenly he flung his cap into the air and seized Bobby round the neck to hug him.
"Scubbity-yow!" he yelled. "That's the greatest thing I've ever heard, Bob! And we can have it right down 'side of my father's store."
Mr. Martin kept a grocery store on Hurley Street, in a one-story building on one side of which was an open lot belonging to the store property. There was a side-door to the store-building opening upon this lot, but not far back from the street.
For the next two or three days Bobby and Fred were very busy indeed at this place and, with some little help, they managed to erect a structure that was made partly of old fence-boards and partly of canvas.
The half-tent, half-shack was about ten feet wide. It had a sloping canvas roof. It ran back from the sidewalk far enough to mask the side-door into Mr. Martin's store.
Mr. Martin was not in the secret of the nature of the boys' proposed "show," but he was a good natured man and made no objection to his son and Bobby utilizing his side door.
"You see, we must have an 'entrance' and an 'exit'," Bobby explained. "Folks can pass out through the store after seeing our show."
"Sure," chuckled Fred. "As long as we don't call it 'egress,' nobody will be scared that it's some strange and savage animal. All right. 'Exit' it is," and he proceeded to paint the sign, per Bobby's instructions.
And that was not the only sign to be painted. Fred was rather handy with a brush, and when all the sign-painting was done, Bobby pronounced the work fine.
In front of the tent, Bobby had built a little platform with a box, waist high, before it. Bobby was to be the lecturer, or "ballyhoo," and was, likewise, to sell the tickets. The other boys were eaten up with curiosity about the show, but neither Bobby nor Fred would give them a chance to get a look inside the shelter after the roof was on.
There was a canvas wall in the front, with a very narrow entrance. Inside that was a canvas screen so that nobody peeking into the doorway could see much of what lay beyond. They had one kerosene lamp to light the interior.
They made several other arrangements for the opening of the show, and then there was nothing to do but wait for Saturday to arrive. On that day many people from out-of-town came into Clinton to market, and the Hurley Street stores were well patronized all day long. Bobby and Fred knew they would not lack a curious company outside the tent, whether they tolled many within or not.