Mr. Hatfield was gone a long while. During his absence, Dan and Brad told Sergeant Billings everything they knew about the money box. They even mentioned the mysterious face at the window, and gave the officer the license number of the car which they thought had followed Mr. Hatfield’s auto on the night of the storm.
“Your imagination probably tricked you on that one,” the sergeant said, noting down the number. “But I’ll check anyhow.”
“By the way, have you heard whether or not that ward of the court, Jack Phillips ever was caught?” Brad inquired.
“We’ve been looking for him,” the sergeant replied. “So far he’s eluded us. Jack is slippery, but we’ll get him back in time.”
“How old is he?” Dan asked curiously.
“About twelve—maybe a bit younger. He’s wise, though, in the ways of the world. We think he’s still around here unless he hitch-hiked to another town. He may be hiding out in the marsh or along the waterfront.”
“How does he manage to live?” Brad questioned.
“Oh, Jack’s an old hand at getting along. The boy has good stuff in him, but he’s made us a lot of trouble. He can’t stand confinement.”
While the Cubs talked, Fred Hatfield came into the house. He too had been calling on building fund prospects and reported that he had obtained pledges totaling nearly one hundred and twenty dollars.
“You did better than we did,” Brad congratulated him.
“Just luck,” Fred returned modestly. “Tomorrow I’ll probably get a lot of turn-downs. Say, where’s Dad?”
“That’s what were wondering,” Dan replied, glancing at the wall clock. Already Mr. Hatfield had been upstairs more than ten minutes.
“He went after the money box,” Brad explained. “I don’t know what’s keeping him.”
At that moment, Mr. Hatfield came hurriedly down the stairway.
The Cubs saw at once that he did not have the money box.
“Fred,” his father said, pausing on the bottom step, “you didn’t by any chance dig into the lower drawer of my desk?”
“Why, no, father,” his son answered in surprise.
“Then the worst has happened. The money box is gone!”
“Gone?” Fred demanded. “How could it be?”
“That’s what I can’t understand. Unless perhaps your mother put it away somewhere.”
Mr. Hatfield went quickly to the kitchen to talk to his wife. However, as he had feared, she had not removed the box from the desk drawer.
During the conversation, Sergeant Billings had listened without comment. He now asked to inspect the desk in the upstairs study.
“You didn’t have the box in a very safe place,” he commented. “Apparently, the drawer wasn’t even locked.”
“It has no key,” Mr. Hatfield admitted. “I thought the box would be safe enough until I could turn it over to police.”
“How many persons have been in the house since you brought the box here?” the sergeant questioned.
“Well, quite a few. All of the Cubs except Midge. Then Mr. Wilson came.”
“And Mr. Brakschmidt,” added Brad. “He didn’t go upstairs though and neither did Mr. Wilson.”
“No one did except the members of my own family,” Mr. Hatfield said earnestly. “I know that neither Fred nor my wife touched the box. But what became of it?”
“How much did it contain?”
“Two thousand, one hundred and seventy-five dollars.”
Sergeant Billings whistled softly. “That’s a pretty stiff loss. You’re sure the box really is lost?”
Mr. Hatfield regarded him in amazement.
“I can’t find it, if that’s what you mean,” he said stiffly. “Or are you implying—?”
“Well, it looks sort of funny,” the sergeant replied. “You say the box has been taken, yet there’s no evidence anyone broke into the house. Who knew where you hid the box?”
“Only myself.”
“I guessed where you put it,” interposed Fred.
“But you didn’t touch the box?” his father asked.
“No, of course not.”
“I assume full responsibility,” Mr. Hatfield said in a harassed tone. “I swear I thought the box would be safe here—”
“I’ll make a report,” Sergeant Billings broke in. “Likely you’ll be called to headquarters for further questioning.”
“I’ve already told you everything I know about the matter.”
“Yeah,” grunted the sergeant. He arose to leave.
Mr. Hatfield was thoroughly annoyed by the other’s tone.
“See here,” he said, “I hope you understand I’m not trying to conceal anything. Why should I?”
“Two thousand a hundred and seventy-five dollars,” the sergeant repeated thoughtfully. “A tidy little sum.”
“You’re not implying that I’m trying to keep it?”
“It’s not up to me to figure out motives,” Sergeant Billings shrugged. “I only ask questions and turn in the reports. If I were in your shoes though, I’d try to produce that box. Otherwise, we’ll have to do a little investigating.”
Two days had elapsed.
The Cubs were worried and so was Mr. Hatfield.
Twice since the disappearance of the money box, the Cub leader had been called to the police station.
Each time he had been questioned politely, but detectives made it clear they were not completely satisfied with his answers.
“Three persons have laid claim to that money, and one at least has come fairly close to naming the amount you say was in the box,” Mr. Hatfield was informed. “Furthermore, trustees of the church feel the cash should be turned over to them because it was found on church property. Now you say your home wasn’t broken into to your knowledge, and yet the box disappeared. It doesn’t make sense unless your own son or one of the Cubs—”
“The Cubs, one and all, are honest,” Mr. Hatfield retorted firmly. “Anyway, they knew only that I took the box upstairs. I told no one where I hid it. So let’s keep them out of this.”
The police had been quite decent about questioning the boys.
Even so, the Cubs felt that they were involved. Dan especially considered that by finding the box he had brought trouble upon Mr. Hatfield and the Den.
“Why did I have to go digging into that coal pile anyway?” he berated himself. “We wouldn’t be in this mess except for me.”
“Nonsense, Dan,” Mr. Hatfield chided. “I’m glad you found the box. Furthermore, we’ll not waste valuable time worrying about the matter. The police are free to make any investigation they wish. We’ll cooperate.”
The Cub leader kept the Cubs so busy they had little time to think much about the missing money box.
In addition to soliciting funds for the church, they worked almost daily on their plans for King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table.
Den one in Webster City also would take part in the Crusade program. At the end of the month the two dens expected to unite their efforts for a gigantic knighting ceremony. Prizes were to be awarded the Den putting on the best display of talent.
In a determined effort to beat their rivals, the boys of Den 2 assigned themselves a full schedule of work.
Aided by their mothers, the Cubs constructed armor of cardboard. The carefully cut pieces were painted with aluminum, bronze and gold.
Red and Chips decked themselves out in mesh-type trappings, fashioning garments of burlap which they painted in metallic colors.
Next, the Cubs designed shields and mounted cardboard spears on the ends of broomsticks.
“If we have time, I’ll make myself a cardboard horse,” Brad announced. “Also, we ought to have some painted banners to hang on the walls. Then this place will look like a regular knight’s hall.”
Temporarily, the Cubs were using the church study as a meeting place. When the weather turned warm again in the Spring, they planned to resume sessions in their own quarters, the cave high over the river.
Brad had made his own suit of armor by sewing small roofing discs onto burlap. The Cubs, frankly envious, acknowledged the job as the best turned out.
“I could make a good suit too if I had some of those discs,” Midge Holloway remarked. “Where’d you buy ’em, Brad?”
“I didn’t. Saw a bunch of ’em lying on the ground near a new house that’s being built. I asked the contractor if I could have ’em and he said I could.”
“Say, are there any more of those discs?” Dan demanded eagerly.
“I guess so. I didn’t take them all.”
“I want some,” piped up Babe.
“So do I,” Chips chimed in. “Lead us to ’em, Brad.”
“It’s a long hike from here,” the older boy replied dubiously. “Fact is, to get there we’d have to hike a couple of miles, going and coming. It’s right at the edge of the marsh.”
This information temporarily dampened the enthusiasm of the Cubs. Then Dan spoke up.
“Well, why don’t we go? It’s a good day for a hike. If we had more of those roof discs, we could turn out armor that would look like the real thing.”
“And we might win first prize!” Fred said, his interest kindling. “What do you think about it, Dad?”
“Let’s take it to a vote,” his father returned. “All in favor of the hike, say Aye.”
Every Cub voted to go.
“When do we start?” Dan asked impatiently. “If we don’t make it today, those discs may be gone.”
“That’s right,” Brad agreed. “Even when I was there, not many were kicking around.”
“Brad, you’re sure it’s all right to take the discs?” Mr. Hatfield asked.
“Yes, the contractor told me I might have all that were lying around.”
Reassured, the Cub leader agreed with the boys that no time should be lost in hiking to the site.
“We might have a weiner roast too,” he proposed. “On the way, we’ll pass a store and can buy anything we want.”
The Cubs quickly put away cardboard and paint. All were dressed warmly enough for the hike except Babe who had to be sent home for sturdy shoes and a heavier jacket.
The youngster was back at the church in ten minutes, however, his pockets bulging.
“Now what have you got?” Chips asked him suspiciously.
Babe grinned and produced several crushed cookies and an apple.
“You and your appetite,” Chips muttered, shaking his head. “Why don’t you grow up?”
Babe refused to take offense. “I thought I might get hungry on the way,” he defended himself.
“You’re always hungry,” Chips retorted. “If you’d spend less time feeding your face and more time studying the rule book, maybe you’d be promoted to Wolf Rank.”
“Cut it out, Chips,” advised Brad, who had overheard the remark. “Babe is catching onto Cub ways fast. I’ll wager he’ll be a Wolf before another certain Wolf I know moves on up to Bear rank.”
“Now who’s rubbing it in?” Chips complained. “I’m working hard and you know it!”
“Sure, sure,” Brad said, giving him a friendly clap on the back. “Only maybe you ought to dig in a little harder on those elective requirements before you toss stones at anyone else.”
Despite the lateness of the season, the day was a pleasant one. Selecting Highway 23, the Cubs, led by Brad and Mr. Hatfield, soon set off in the direction of the marsh.
Their way skirted a built-up area near the city limits. A short distance beyond, they passed a sparsely settled section where a few new houses were in process of construction.
“How much farther?” Babe asked, limping along beside Brad.
He had attached himself like a puppy to the older boy, but found it impossible to imitate his smooth, easy gait.
“We’re almost there now,” Brad encouraged him. “Guess you aren’t used to hiking, are you?”
“My feet hurt.”
“Sure, and why wouldn’t they, with those tight shoes? Better get yourself some that fit, Babe. The Cubs do a lot of hiking.”
“Say, when do we eat?” demanded Red. The brisk walk had made him very hungry.
“Well, we could have the roast before we gather discs,” Brad said, glancing over the terrain. “It’s for the fellows to decide.”
“All in favor—” shouted Red.
Every Cub voted to halt then and there and build their fire.
Mr. Hatfield selected a suitable place at the edge of the marsh, not far from the road. Under his direction, the boys cleared away dry leaves and debris to insure that the fire could not spread.
While the Cubs roasted weiners on long sticks over the coals, Mr. Hatfield again talked over plans for the coming Round Table jamboree.
“The Pack has chosen a motto or code of honor for this month,” he told the boys. “It is this: ‘BE ALWAYS READY.’”
“I’m ready right now—for another weiner!” laughed Midge, reaching into the sack Mr. Hatfield had brought along.
“I guess you meant the code in a more serious sense, didn’t you, Mr. Hatfield?” Dan asked.
“That’s right, Dan. Knights of old always were ready to defend those who could not help themselves. They were prepared to fight in the defense of liberty.”
“Cubs can’t fight real battles,” protested Chips.
“Moral battles are very real ones,” the Cub leader corrected. “We must strive always to maintain honor—never to allow our names to be blackened.”
“Isn’t that what the cops are trying to do now?” Chips demanded before he stopped to think how the question might sound. “They’re making such a fuss about that old money box—”
Brad, who sat next to the boy, gave him a quick jab in the ribs.
Mr. Hatfield, however, did not take offense.
“I’m glad you brought up the matter of the money box, Chips,” he said quietly. “The police are not trying to blacken my name. Quite the contrary. Their job is to investigate. I have complete confidence that they can bring to light no information which will discredit either myself or any Cub Scout.”
Their meal finished, the boys now cleared away the litter. Brad and Mr. Hatfield not only stamped out the dying coals, but for safety covered them with loose dirt.
“Notice that old farmhouse,” Dan remarked, pointing to an unpainted, tumble-down dwelling visible some distance away. “Wonder if anyone lives there?”
“It looks deserted,” Brad agreed.
The house was a gloomy, two-story structure with sagging porches. Roof shingles curled and the brick foundation had partly given away.
“Maybe that place has a ghost!” Midge suggested with a laugh. “Let’s go over and find out!”
“I thought we came out here for roofing discs,” Brad reminded him. “If we start off on a wild goose chase—”
“A ghost chase,” Midge corrected. “Oh, the house can wait. But it does look interesting. After we get the discs, let’s find out if anyone lives there.”
“Fair enough,” Brad agreed. “If we don’t start moving, we won’t even get our discs for armor. It will be turning dark before long.”
Made aware that the sun fast was lowering, the Cubs walked briskly on to the cleared area where four new houses had been built. All were boarded up for their interiors had not been completed. None were occupied.
“Now you’re certain it’s all right to take the discs?” Mr. Hatfield asked Brad doubtfully. “We don’t want to get into any trouble.”
“The contractor said I could have them all. I only took enough for my own suit of armor.”
“In that case, go to it, boys,” Mr. Hatfield said. “While you’re gathering discs, I’ll look at the houses.”
The discs were scattered over a large area, half buried in the moist earth.
Brad helped Babe, who was less agile than his companions. With six boys and a scarcity of metal discs it became a race to see who would get enough for a suit of armor.
“If we come out short, maybe we can buy a few at a roofing supply place,” Dan commented. “Here’s another!”
In reaching to pick it up from amid a pile of boards and broken brick, he noticed that the cellar door of one of the houses stood slightly ajar.
“Say, fellows!” he exclaimed. “This house is unlocked!”
“Then we can go through it!” shouted Chips, hurrying over.
“Hold on!” Brad stopped him. “These houses are supposed to be locked. I had permission to take discs—not to lead a mob through any of the buildings.”
“Oh, it won’t hurt just to peek inside,” Chips protested.
Before Brad could stop him, the boy shoved open the door.
“Chips!” Brad shouted furiously.
But the boy needed no additional warning. Already he had been effectively halted.
As the door swung outward, a figure loomed up before him.
Chips was so astonished at seeing anyone in the house, he could only stare. The man was stoutish and wore soiled, wrinkled clothes. A stubble of beard gave his face a shadowy appearance.
More than anything else, Chips was made aware of the dark eyes which seemed to bore directly into him.
“I—I beg your pardon,” he mumbled, gathering his wits. “I—I didn’t know anyone was in the house.”
“Who are you?” the man demanded harshly.
“A Cub Scout. We’re all Cubs.” Chips was grateful that the other boys were behind him, gathering closer. “We’re here picking up roof discs.”
“Well, beat it!” the man said curtly. “You have no business on the property. Get moving!”
Before Chips or the other Cubs could make any reply, he slammed the basement door in their faces.
“Well, how do you like that?” Dan muttered as the Cubs gathered in a group near the newly constructed house.
“Who was he, Brad?” Midge asked the Den Chief. “Not the contractor?”
“No, I never saw this fellow before—although his voice sounded sort of familiar.”
“Maybe he’s one of the workmen,” Red said uneasily. “After all, we are on private property.”
“I had permission to come here for those discs,” Brad insisted. “Furthermore, I don’t believe that fellow was a workman. He didn’t talk like one.”
“Or look like it either,” added Chips. Of all the Cubs, he was the only one who had obtained a clear view of the man.
“You didn’t know him, did you?” Dan inquired.
Chips shook his head. “Never set eyes on him before. You know what I think? He’s a tramp!”
“Say, he did look like one!” Babe cried, although he had been too far back to catch more than a glimpse of the shadowy figure.
“And I bet a cookie he has no business being in this house!” Chips went on excitedly. “The nerve of him ordering us away! Why, he may have broken in and be living there!”
“Without the contractor or the owner knowing anything about it,” agreed Dan soberly. “Say, we ought to tell Mr. Hatfield about this.”
At that moment, the Cub leader joined the group. He had been too far away to see the stranger or to hear any of the conversation. However, from the excited comment of the boys, he knew something was amiss.
“What goes on?” he asked, hurrying up.
Brad told him what had happened.
“I’m certain the man isn’t a workman,” he added. “We think he must be a tramp who broke into the house and is camping there.”
Mr. Hatfield noted a nearby sign which bore the name and telephone number of the contractor who had built the dwellings.
“I’ll telephone him as soon as we get back to Webster City,” he announced. “These houses are supposed to be boarded up. We have no authority to order anyone away, so we’ll just clear out.”
The Cubs knew that their leader’s advice was sound. However, they disliked to be driven away from the premises.
“Gather up your discs, fellows, and let’s move,” Brad told the Cubs. “It’s getting late anyhow.”
In the act of tying his plunder into a knapsack made from his sweater, Dan glanced toward the basement window of the new house.
“Look, Brad!” he commanded. “That guy’s standing there watching us!”
“I don’t like it,” the older boy muttered. “Mr. Hatfield’s right. This is no place for us.”
“We ought to be a match for him.”
“That’s not the point,” Brad argued. “For all we may know, he might be a criminal—armed. He looks like a tough customer.”
“Face is sort of familiar too,” Dan said thoughtfully. “Where have I seen him before?”
“Nowhere that I recall.”
“I’ve seen him some place,” Dan insisted, “or at least he’s someone that reminds me of—I got it!”
“You’ve got what?” Brad demanded.
“I know where we saw that fellow!”
“We?”
“Sure! Don’t you recall that night of the rain storm—on our way to the church?”
“The stranger who asked us what was going on there!”
“That’s the guy!”
Brad glanced quickly toward the window. The man however, had stepped back beyond view.
“He reminds me a little of that fellow, Dan,” the Den Chief said thoughtfully. “All the same, I wouldn’t say it’s the same person.”
“Well, they look alike,” Dan insisted. “I didn’t care much for the fellow’s appearance when we met him in the rain.”
“Coming boys?” called Mr. Hatfield.
Dismissing the stranger from their minds, Brad and Dan hastened to catch up with the other Cubs.
As they hiked toward the main road, Mr. Hatfield mentioned again that he would call the contractor as soon as he arrived at home.
“I want to tell him that we picked up the roofing discs,” he said. “I’m sure it’s all right, but we’ll double check. Then I’ll tell him about that tramp in the house.”
“He could do considerable damage,” Red remarked. “Why, he might even start a fire that would destroy the house.”
“Say! We haven’t forgotten about exploring the haunted house, have we?” Chips suddenly demanded.
From the main road a weed-choked, narrow lane led toward the unpainted house which stood on a curving rise of land. Shutters hung at rakish angles and the place had every appearance of being deserted.
“Do we have time?” Mr. Hatfield asked, looking at his watch.
“Oh, it won’t take more than a minute!” Chips insisted.
“Sometimes your minutes are pretty long, Chips,” the Cub leader laughed.
The other boys also were eager to inspect the old house, so finally Mr. Hatfield consented.
“This would be a spooky place at night,” Midge declared as they started up the lane. “I’d hate to live so near the marsh. Imagine building new houses out here.”
“Land is cheap in this area,” Mr. Hatfield explained. “Then, Webster City is growing to the south. In a few years, this section may be built up solidly.”
The land near the old house was ragged with frosted stubble growth. Some distance away ran a tiny creek, screened by reeds and rushes.
“Must be good hunting and fishing around here,” Brad remarked.
Walking over broken, uneven ground the Cubs approached the dilapidated house. Its windows, streaked with dirt from the recent rain, seem to stare at them.
“Wonder how long this place has been deserted?” Dan speculated.
“Not long, that’s certain,” replied Mr. Hatfield, glancing about the untidy yard. “In fact, I wonder—”
“Oh, look at the old fashioned iron kettle!” Chips broke in without giving the Cub leader an opportunity to complete his remark. “And the old well that turns on a crank.”
“It’s not the well that turns on a crank, bright boy!” Red laughed.
“Well, you know what I mean,” Chips growled. “That’s how the bucket is lifted. Let’s have a drink.”
“Better not,” advised Mr. Hatfield. “This water may be safe enough, but we have no way of being sure.”
The Cubs raised and lowered the well bucket several times, but did not drink. Dan went over to look at the big iron kettle which in days past evidently had been used for the boiling of apple sauce or maple sirup.
To his surprise, he noted that the ashes beneath the blackened container were faintly warm.
“Say, maybe this place isn’t deserted after all!” he exclaimed in alarm. “Someone’s been using this kettle recently.”
Babe Bunning, unmindful of Dan’s discovery, had pulled a box to a position beneath the kitchen window.
Flattening his nose against the pane, he peered inside.
“And someone’s been using this house!” the boy entoned. “In fact, she’s right here NOW!”
In confusion, Babe backed away from the kitchen window.
The other Cubs also were embarrassed, for they had not intended to investigate an occupied dwelling.
“Gee whiz!” Babe muttered. “Here she comes! I’ll bet she’s sore!”
The kitchen door creaked open and the mysterious “she” stood on the threshold regarding the boys with curiosity rather than anger.
Tall and wiry, the woman appeared to be about fifty years of age. Her iron-gray hair was combed severely back from her ears. The gingham dress she wore was old fashioned and faded from repeated washing.
“I—I’m sorry,” Babe stammered, doffing his cap. “I—I didn’t know anyone lived here. The house looked so old and—”
“We were just passing and stopped to look at the deep well,” Brad interposed hastily. “One doesn’t see one like it very often.”
“Or a house as run down as this,” said the woman.
Plainly she had not taken offense at Babe’s remark, for she smiled and said: “You boys must be on a hike.”
Mr. Hatfield told her about the organization and introduced the boys by name. In turn, the woman said she was Mrs. Jones, a widow, and that she lived alone.
“If you’re Mrs. Jones, you must be the one Mr. Wentworth mentioned!” Dan exclaimed, recalling the name. “Do you board wards of the court?”
“I was supposed to take one—a harum-scarum lad who has a tendency to run away,” Mrs. Jones replied. “The Court promised me eight dollars a week to look after him. I need the money. But he never showed up.”
“That’s because he ran away again,” Dan informed the widow. “Police still are looking for him.”
“Like as not he wouldn’t want to stay here anyway,” Mrs. Jones said, her gaze sweeping the untidy yard. “There’s so much to be done, and no one to do it except me.”
“I should think a sturdy boy would be a help to you here,” remarked Mr. Hatfield. “And an outdoor life might be just what Jack needs. With a woods and marsh nearby, he could interest himself in wild life which he seems to enjoy.”
“That’s what Mr. Wentworth thought,” nodded the widow. “He said several city boarding places have been tried, and each time Jack runs away.”
“The boy needs strict discipline but from someone who has an interest in his welfare.”
“I’ve always liked boys—even so-called bad ones,” Mrs. Jones declared. “Jack would have good food here and a comfortable bed. The house isn’t much, but after all, it’s what’s in it that counts.”
The widow, who wore no wrap, was shivering from cold. Aware that they were keeping her, the Cubs started away.
But as they started off, Mr. Hatfield thought to speak of the tramp who had been seen at the group of new houses.
“Since you live here alone, it might be well to lock your doors at night,” the Cub leader advised. “While the fellow probably is harmless, one never knows.”
Mrs. Jones thanked him for the warning. “I’ll do as you advise,” she said, “but I’ve never been afraid. It’s not in my blood to be afeared of anyone or anything.”
The Cubs apologized again for having trespassed upon her property.
“Now you boys just come here whenever you like,” she invited cordially. “Next time maybe I’ll have some cookies handy in my jar. Growing boys always are hungry. I know, because I had three of ’em. They’re grown men now.”
A lonely soul, Mrs. Jones would have chatted on and on. The Cubs, however, already were late. So they edged away, waved a final goodbye, and trudged back to the main road.
“That should cure us of peeking into windows,” Brad lectured Babe. “She was mighty nice about it, but she could have jumped all over us.”
“How was I to know anyone lived there?” Babe defended himself. “You thought yourself the house was empty.”
“That’s so,” Brad admitted honestly. “Mrs. Jones must be as poor as a church mouse. She needs that board money badly.”
“And Jack needs someone like Mrs. Jones to take an interest in him,” added Mr. Hatfield. “She is firm but kind.”
“Imagine living in a place like that!” Chips commented with distaste. “It’s a dump.”
“The inside is clean and not badly furnished,” informed the Cub leader. “I noticed when she had the door open. As for the outside, the windows could be washed and the rubbish cleaned up in a few hours.”
“Say, maybe that’s a job for the Cubs!” proposed Brad. “We’re supposed to give neighborhood good will. What better way?”
“That yard has a lot of rubbish,” Chips said quickly. “It would take more than a few hours—maybe half a day.”
“And we’re pretty busy soliciting for the church campaign,” added Red. “Not to mention our plans for the Round Table jamboree.”
“It was just a suggestion,” Brad shrugged. “Only I thought the widow seems to need help.”
“I’d like to do it,” offered Dan. “I could spare a Saturday afternoon.”
“So could I,” volunteered Fred. “How about you, Midge?”
“Count me in. While we’re clearing away the trash, we might find some things we could use for knight’s armor. I noticed a lot of old tin and metal lying around. Also some wheels and things.”
“Let’s make it Saturday then,” proposed Brad. “If Red and Chips can’t come, why that’s all right.”
“Oh, I can make it, I guess,” Red back-tracked.
Chips, not to be left out on any Den affair, said he would be on hand too.
The Cubs had spent more time than they had intended exploring the countryside. With a glance at his watch, Mr. Hatfield warned that they would have to walk briskly if they were to reach home in time for supper.
“Maybe we can hook a ride!” Midge suggested. “Here comes a truck. Let’s signal the driver.”
Despite his frantic hand waving, the truck rolled on past. However, a quarter of a mile farther on, the hikers observed a familiar appearing station wagon coming toward them.
“Say, that looks like my Dad’s car!” exclaimed Midge.
He was right. A moment later, with a screech of brakes, the station wagon halted at the side of the road.
“Hey, you’re going in the wrong direction!” Midge called to his father.
“I’ll turn around,” Mr. Holloway offered. “I heard you boys were out this way on a hike. The weather’s turning colder, so I thought you might like a lift back into town. Of course if you prefer to walk—”
A hoot of derision greeted this remark. The Cubs waited until Mr. Holloway had turned the station wagon around on the narrow road, and then piled in.
Midge, Dan and Mr. Hatfield sat in the front with the Den Dad. The others crowded into the rear, stowing their collection of roofing discs at their feet.
“It’s sure swell to catch a ride,” Dan said gratefully. “My dogs were beginning to ache me.”
In the rear of the station wagon, the other Cubs broke into song, making further conversation all but impossible.
The car presently approached the outskirts of Webster City. At the lefthand side of the road, Mr. Holloway noticed a boy trudging wearily along the edge of the pavement.
“Maybe I should give him a lift,” he remarked, slowing the station wagon. “He appears tired.”
Dan thought that the boy looked faintly familiar. He could not place him though.
However, as Mr. Holloway brought the station wagon to a standstill only a few yards away from the pedestrian, he caught a full view of his face.
“It’s that boy Jack!” he exclaimed.
“Not the one who escaped from Guy Wentworth?” Mr. Hatfield demanded incredulously.
“I’m sure of it.”
“It does look like him,” the Cub leader acknowledged. Quickly he added: “Boys, don’t let on that you suspect a thing or ever have seen the lad before. If we play our cards right, we may be able to take him back where he belongs.”
Mr. Holloway waited until the runaway boy came alongside the station wagon.
“How about a lift into town?” he called cheerfully.
The boy hesitated. His clothes were unpressed, his hair uncombed. Plainly he had been sleeping wherever he could find a bed or a haystack.
“No, thanks,” he muttered, starting to turn away.
“Oh, come on, you look as if you’re tired,” Mr. Holloway urged. He swung open the door of the station wagon.
Jack gazed curiously at the Cubs. Apparently however, he did not remember either Dan or Brad, if indeed he had noticed them on the night of the rain storm.
Finally, reassured by the friendly faces of the Cubs, Jack slid into the front seat between Mr. Holloway and Mr. Hatfield. Dan made room for him by perching himself on the Cub leader’s knees, his body blocking off the door.
“Going far?” Mr. Holloway asked the boy, as he drove on.
“Just into Webster City,” the other replied reluctantly.
“Glad to give you a lift,” Mr. Holloway said, deliberately trying to stimulate conversation. “Which school do you attend?”
“Not any right now,” the boy muttered. He squirmed uneasily.
“You don’t like school, I take it?”
“Not very much. I’d rather be outdoors.”
“Schooling though, is a mighty useful thing,” Mr. Holloway continued. “It helps one get a better job and appreciate the good things of life.”
“The good things of life!” Jack repeated with a snort. “That’s a laugh!”
“You speak as if you’ve had a tough time.” Mr. Holloway deliberately was trying to draw the boy out.
“Oh, I ain’t complaining,” Jack returned. “I’ve learned to get along.”
“I can see that,” Mr. Holloway said dryly. “But you don’t seem too happy. This is the time of your life when you should be having a good time—playing football, ice skating, all the sports.”
A flash of interest illuminated Jack’s face. But it was gone in an instant, to be replaced by a look of suspicion.
“Say, what you handing me?” he demanded. “And who are all these kids?”
“Cub Scouts,” explained Dan. At the other’s blank expression, he explained: “It’s an organization for boys who aren’t quite old enough to be Boy Scouts. We have a lot of fun while we’re doing helpful things.”
“Our motto is: ‘Always Do Your Best,’” Mr. Hatfield supplied. “Most of the boys do exactly that.”
“Sounds sort of sappy to me,” Jack said with a half-sneer. “Who wants to go around with a halo, always looking for good things to do?”