CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XVIIIDEAD WIRES"We must have a chance yet," S. S. insisted weakly."About as much of a chance as a dish of ice cream at a Sunday-School picnic," grinned Specs.Bunny cleared his throat. "I know how you fellows feel about this, and I know just what we are up against. Twenty minutes isn't much time for the distance we have to cover. Just the same, I've made up my mind that we are going to be at the ball park in Belden by three o'clock this afternoon, even if we have to build a toboggan and slide there. But we're not going to give up, not if I know anything about this patrol. We've never quit yet when something had to be done."There was a general murmur of agreement. Little Prissler said primly, "That's the spirit that moves mountains!""And if it should turn out, at five minutes of three," added Bunny, "that we are still trying to cross this lake, I'd vote for keeping right on toward Belden till we reached there.""That's what we all say!" shouted Bi enthusiastically;"that is, if some near-sighted laundry doesn't catch us and hang us up on a line to dry."In the laughter that followed, the nine boys began to take stock of their soaked clothing, wringing and pressing out as much of the water as they could."The bullgine's picking up a little," said Roundy hopefully, squirting a little oil on the exposed running parts and tightening the grease cups. "If we don't touch shore ahead of time, I'm a tenderfoot."With freshened courage, they waited the landing. And because neither breakdowns nor stoppages came their way, they climbed upon the yacht pier at exactly 10:39. While Roundy arranged with the keeper to look after the launch, Bunny interviewed a fisherman on the best way to get to Harrison City."The main road is that macadamized pike right there," the man informed him. "It's a good mile and a quarter to the Charles City station."Bunny gasped. The situation was even worse than he had imagined."But if you are in a hurry—""We are, Mister; we're in a mighty big hurry.""Then take the old wagon road to the right," advised the fisherman. "It's a short cut over a couple of little hills. A bad stretch of road, I'm telling you, but only three quarters of a mile to Harrison City that way. On foot, you'll get there a lot sooner than if you follow the main highway.""We want to catch the 10:50 train.""You'll make it if you keep your legs moving."A series of short blasts on the patrol leader's whistle gathered the eight boys about him. In a few quick words, Bunny explained the lay of the roads."We'll take up the Scout's pace, and keep at it till we reach the station. We have almost ten minutes to make three quarters of a mile. I'll lead, and I want each fellow to hang close to the heels of the one ahead.""I'll be rearguard," said Specs, as the nine boys broke into a trot. "Remember, Roundy, if you drop back, I'll—I'll pick you up and carry you into Harrison City."There was nothing about the road to hinder people on foot. Deep ruts and gullies made it practically impassable for finicky automobiles, but the nine boys strung out in single file and thus avoided bad places and fallen branches that had toppled upon the trail. Less than a quarter mile from the lake, they skimmed the crest of the first hill with every fellow hanging close to his pace-setter."It's like taking candy from a baby," Specs grinned, as the group dropped into a walk. "What do you say, Bunny, if we make the run a hundred yards and the walk fifty? We can do it easy enough."Bunny was unwilling. "Yes, we could," he admitted, "but we have a ball game to play this afternoon, and I guess we'll need all our strength to win it."The road was a little better now. Trees that met overhead threw a grateful shade upon the hikers.There were even clumps of wild flowers waiting to be appreciated by anybody in the mood to look at them. But the Scouts and the Scout-trained Prissler had their minds set upon catching that train, and the most beautiful flowers in the world could have bloomed their heads off without getting more than a passing glance."Off again!" Bunny announced, giving the signal for the jog.They wound past a clump of trees and around a turn to the left. Without warning, Bunny slowed and halted. Behind him, Scout bumped Scout, like a row of dominoes that is set falling.A man with a cane faced Bunny. "I—it's—" He stammered incoherently before he loosed a flood of words. "Boys, I must have help! I must have it! I must ask you to help me!""What's the matter?" called Specs, who had not heard the request. He was rubbing an affronted nose that had collided with Roundy's back.It was now evident to Bunny that the stranger was older than he had seemed at first. His face was lined with wrinkles. His back was twisted and bent, as if from rheumatism. When he spoke, his voice quavered uncertainly."My wife and I, we live back there in that little frame house. She's just getting over a long spell of sickness, and it is necessary for me to be in touch with the Harrison City doctor night and day. But now my telephone won't work; it's gone dead.""We'll leave word at Harrison City."The old man shook his head despairingly. "It's a bad time of week to get anything done. This is Saturday, you know, and they might not come—they might not come till Monday.""Well, what do you expect us to do, anyhow?" demanded the irritated Specs.The old gentleman's hand trembled as he gestured. "I—I don't know. Perhaps one of you could go to the telephone office and maybe stay right there and explain how much we needed the 'phone fixed and not give up till they started somebody out here to fix it."There were five seconds of uncomfortable silence, broken by Bunny. "We might do better than that. If Handy were here—""Roundy knows a lot about telephones," suggested Jump."Not very much," Roundy admitted slowly. "But I can tell if any of the wires are disconnected, or if the battery is dead, or if anything big is the matter with the instrument.""That's enough; that's plenty!" Bunny was thinking hard and fast. "We all know a little something about electricity. Roundy, you go to the telephone and look it over. I'll meet you there." Roundy was off on a run. The old gentleman, staring in blank surprise, suddenly comprehended and shouted that the telephone was in the hall, just inside the front door."Now for the insulators," Bunny said briskly."You notice how the wires run from the house along those trees, with the insulators on the limbs. If somebody shinnies up each tree, we'll soon discover whether the trouble's between here and the regular poles."There was no time to discuss matters with the aged cottager, who seemed still dazed and wondering. Like so many squirrels, the boys scattered and began squirming their way up the proper trunks.Eight trees carried the glass insulators. Fortunately, however, the one nearest the house could be examined with the aid of a friendly stepladder. Bunny was up and down in the twinkling of an eye. With the other volunteer repairmen fairly started, he now made his way to Roundy, already deep in his labors of examining the telephone."I can't see anything wrong here," Roundy grunted, squinting at the wire coiled in the box. He tested the poles of the battery with a wet finger. "Plenty of juice in that. Everything tightly connected, and transmitter and receiver in good shape."Bunny flung open the nearest window."Find anything wrong, Bi?""Nothing here. How about you, Specs?""Right as a trivet on this tree."Down the line the Scouts reported, each to the effect that his wire and insulator were in prime condition. From the last tree, Prissler shouted a confident, "O. K. here."Puzzled and disappointed, Bunny turned again toRoundy, who was making a last effort to call Central. Almost two minutes had passed in this determination to live up to the Scout law that says a Scout must be helpful and prepared at all times to give aid to those in need. If they hoped to catch the train—"Oh, Bi!" It was the voice of Bonfire Cree calling from the fourth tree, that roused Bunny from his slump of depression. "Look back where the wire leaves the house. It doesn't come out from the corner; it turns through that vine. Take a look at the vine."With a shout, Bi swung from the lowest limb of his perch, and ran to the spot Bonfire had pointed out. Along the side of the house, a vine had wrapped its heavy creepers around a little segment of the wire between the insulator on the corner and the holes where the wire turned in to connect with the instrument.Slapping open his knife, Bi slashed away the green foliage, to expose a tiny patch of wire, hard against a tin rain trough, where faulty insulation had rubbed or rotted free, forming a short circuit. By bending out the copper strands, the trouble was eliminated.At that moment, a smile creased Roundy's cheeks into joyous wrinkles."Listen to this!" he said, handing the receiver to Bunny.Faintly, but distinctly, the patrol leader could hear the voice of Central. "Number, please?""Get 'em together, Roundy, and have Bi start on a slow jog and keep it up. I'll catch you. And hustle,because we have a fighting chance yet." As Roundy picked up his cap, Bunny turned his attention to the telephone. "The R. A. & S. station, please. No, I don't know the number, and there isn't a book here. But it's important."A moment later, a gruff voice answered. "R. A. & S.""Nine of us want to catch that 10:50 train. We must make it. Can't you hold it sixty seconds for us? Yes, we'll be there surely by 10:51; by 10:50, I hope. Just sixty seconds?"The answer made his heart leap. "Thank you! Thank you! You've done us the biggest favor anybody could!"Working with all possible speed, Bunny hooked the front of the telephone box in place, warned the old gentleman to tape the exposed wire outside the house, and dashed after the others, without getting more than the first part of the thanks which were being showered upon him.Already the other boys had rounded the next bend in the road, and it took stiff running for almost three hundred yards to catch them."Just heard the whistle of the train," Specs confided, as Bunny came even."We'll make it," said Bunny confidently. "Why, we're not much behind schedule. There are over seventy seconds of our regular time left, and they have promised to hold the train an extra minute for us."As they trotted down the last hill, the railroad station came into sight. Already slowing down, the train was just pulling in."Safe at last!" Nap shouted. "I knew we could catch it."But even while they were still running, a most unexpected thing happened.The train braked to a stop. But it wasn't a real stop. As Specs said, it seemed as though the engineer just "hesitated." Almost before the big driving wheels had ceased revolving, and with the nine boys still a good two hundred yards from the track, the engine puffed, the piston rods spun the wheels till the friction caught, and the train, under gathering speed, pounded out of sight.

DEAD WIRES

"We must have a chance yet," S. S. insisted weakly.

"About as much of a chance as a dish of ice cream at a Sunday-School picnic," grinned Specs.

Bunny cleared his throat. "I know how you fellows feel about this, and I know just what we are up against. Twenty minutes isn't much time for the distance we have to cover. Just the same, I've made up my mind that we are going to be at the ball park in Belden by three o'clock this afternoon, even if we have to build a toboggan and slide there. But we're not going to give up, not if I know anything about this patrol. We've never quit yet when something had to be done."

There was a general murmur of agreement. Little Prissler said primly, "That's the spirit that moves mountains!"

"And if it should turn out, at five minutes of three," added Bunny, "that we are still trying to cross this lake, I'd vote for keeping right on toward Belden till we reached there."

"That's what we all say!" shouted Bi enthusiastically;"that is, if some near-sighted laundry doesn't catch us and hang us up on a line to dry."

In the laughter that followed, the nine boys began to take stock of their soaked clothing, wringing and pressing out as much of the water as they could.

"The bullgine's picking up a little," said Roundy hopefully, squirting a little oil on the exposed running parts and tightening the grease cups. "If we don't touch shore ahead of time, I'm a tenderfoot."

With freshened courage, they waited the landing. And because neither breakdowns nor stoppages came their way, they climbed upon the yacht pier at exactly 10:39. While Roundy arranged with the keeper to look after the launch, Bunny interviewed a fisherman on the best way to get to Harrison City.

"The main road is that macadamized pike right there," the man informed him. "It's a good mile and a quarter to the Charles City station."

Bunny gasped. The situation was even worse than he had imagined.

"But if you are in a hurry—"

"We are, Mister; we're in a mighty big hurry."

"Then take the old wagon road to the right," advised the fisherman. "It's a short cut over a couple of little hills. A bad stretch of road, I'm telling you, but only three quarters of a mile to Harrison City that way. On foot, you'll get there a lot sooner than if you follow the main highway."

"We want to catch the 10:50 train."

"You'll make it if you keep your legs moving."

A series of short blasts on the patrol leader's whistle gathered the eight boys about him. In a few quick words, Bunny explained the lay of the roads.

"We'll take up the Scout's pace, and keep at it till we reach the station. We have almost ten minutes to make three quarters of a mile. I'll lead, and I want each fellow to hang close to the heels of the one ahead."

"I'll be rearguard," said Specs, as the nine boys broke into a trot. "Remember, Roundy, if you drop back, I'll—I'll pick you up and carry you into Harrison City."

There was nothing about the road to hinder people on foot. Deep ruts and gullies made it practically impassable for finicky automobiles, but the nine boys strung out in single file and thus avoided bad places and fallen branches that had toppled upon the trail. Less than a quarter mile from the lake, they skimmed the crest of the first hill with every fellow hanging close to his pace-setter.

"It's like taking candy from a baby," Specs grinned, as the group dropped into a walk. "What do you say, Bunny, if we make the run a hundred yards and the walk fifty? We can do it easy enough."

Bunny was unwilling. "Yes, we could," he admitted, "but we have a ball game to play this afternoon, and I guess we'll need all our strength to win it."

The road was a little better now. Trees that met overhead threw a grateful shade upon the hikers.There were even clumps of wild flowers waiting to be appreciated by anybody in the mood to look at them. But the Scouts and the Scout-trained Prissler had their minds set upon catching that train, and the most beautiful flowers in the world could have bloomed their heads off without getting more than a passing glance.

"Off again!" Bunny announced, giving the signal for the jog.

They wound past a clump of trees and around a turn to the left. Without warning, Bunny slowed and halted. Behind him, Scout bumped Scout, like a row of dominoes that is set falling.

A man with a cane faced Bunny. "I—it's—" He stammered incoherently before he loosed a flood of words. "Boys, I must have help! I must have it! I must ask you to help me!"

"What's the matter?" called Specs, who had not heard the request. He was rubbing an affronted nose that had collided with Roundy's back.

It was now evident to Bunny that the stranger was older than he had seemed at first. His face was lined with wrinkles. His back was twisted and bent, as if from rheumatism. When he spoke, his voice quavered uncertainly.

"My wife and I, we live back there in that little frame house. She's just getting over a long spell of sickness, and it is necessary for me to be in touch with the Harrison City doctor night and day. But now my telephone won't work; it's gone dead."

"We'll leave word at Harrison City."

The old man shook his head despairingly. "It's a bad time of week to get anything done. This is Saturday, you know, and they might not come—they might not come till Monday."

"Well, what do you expect us to do, anyhow?" demanded the irritated Specs.

The old gentleman's hand trembled as he gestured. "I—I don't know. Perhaps one of you could go to the telephone office and maybe stay right there and explain how much we needed the 'phone fixed and not give up till they started somebody out here to fix it."

There were five seconds of uncomfortable silence, broken by Bunny. "We might do better than that. If Handy were here—"

"Roundy knows a lot about telephones," suggested Jump.

"Not very much," Roundy admitted slowly. "But I can tell if any of the wires are disconnected, or if the battery is dead, or if anything big is the matter with the instrument."

"That's enough; that's plenty!" Bunny was thinking hard and fast. "We all know a little something about electricity. Roundy, you go to the telephone and look it over. I'll meet you there." Roundy was off on a run. The old gentleman, staring in blank surprise, suddenly comprehended and shouted that the telephone was in the hall, just inside the front door.

"Now for the insulators," Bunny said briskly."You notice how the wires run from the house along those trees, with the insulators on the limbs. If somebody shinnies up each tree, we'll soon discover whether the trouble's between here and the regular poles."

There was no time to discuss matters with the aged cottager, who seemed still dazed and wondering. Like so many squirrels, the boys scattered and began squirming their way up the proper trunks.

Eight trees carried the glass insulators. Fortunately, however, the one nearest the house could be examined with the aid of a friendly stepladder. Bunny was up and down in the twinkling of an eye. With the other volunteer repairmen fairly started, he now made his way to Roundy, already deep in his labors of examining the telephone.

"I can't see anything wrong here," Roundy grunted, squinting at the wire coiled in the box. He tested the poles of the battery with a wet finger. "Plenty of juice in that. Everything tightly connected, and transmitter and receiver in good shape."

Bunny flung open the nearest window.

"Find anything wrong, Bi?"

"Nothing here. How about you, Specs?"

"Right as a trivet on this tree."

Down the line the Scouts reported, each to the effect that his wire and insulator were in prime condition. From the last tree, Prissler shouted a confident, "O. K. here."

Puzzled and disappointed, Bunny turned again toRoundy, who was making a last effort to call Central. Almost two minutes had passed in this determination to live up to the Scout law that says a Scout must be helpful and prepared at all times to give aid to those in need. If they hoped to catch the train—

"Oh, Bi!" It was the voice of Bonfire Cree calling from the fourth tree, that roused Bunny from his slump of depression. "Look back where the wire leaves the house. It doesn't come out from the corner; it turns through that vine. Take a look at the vine."

With a shout, Bi swung from the lowest limb of his perch, and ran to the spot Bonfire had pointed out. Along the side of the house, a vine had wrapped its heavy creepers around a little segment of the wire between the insulator on the corner and the holes where the wire turned in to connect with the instrument.

Slapping open his knife, Bi slashed away the green foliage, to expose a tiny patch of wire, hard against a tin rain trough, where faulty insulation had rubbed or rotted free, forming a short circuit. By bending out the copper strands, the trouble was eliminated.

At that moment, a smile creased Roundy's cheeks into joyous wrinkles.

"Listen to this!" he said, handing the receiver to Bunny.

Faintly, but distinctly, the patrol leader could hear the voice of Central. "Number, please?"

"Get 'em together, Roundy, and have Bi start on a slow jog and keep it up. I'll catch you. And hustle,because we have a fighting chance yet." As Roundy picked up his cap, Bunny turned his attention to the telephone. "The R. A. & S. station, please. No, I don't know the number, and there isn't a book here. But it's important."

A moment later, a gruff voice answered. "R. A. & S."

"Nine of us want to catch that 10:50 train. We must make it. Can't you hold it sixty seconds for us? Yes, we'll be there surely by 10:51; by 10:50, I hope. Just sixty seconds?"

The answer made his heart leap. "Thank you! Thank you! You've done us the biggest favor anybody could!"

Working with all possible speed, Bunny hooked the front of the telephone box in place, warned the old gentleman to tape the exposed wire outside the house, and dashed after the others, without getting more than the first part of the thanks which were being showered upon him.

Already the other boys had rounded the next bend in the road, and it took stiff running for almost three hundred yards to catch them.

"Just heard the whistle of the train," Specs confided, as Bunny came even.

"We'll make it," said Bunny confidently. "Why, we're not much behind schedule. There are over seventy seconds of our regular time left, and they have promised to hold the train an extra minute for us."

As they trotted down the last hill, the railroad station came into sight. Already slowing down, the train was just pulling in.

"Safe at last!" Nap shouted. "I knew we could catch it."

But even while they were still running, a most unexpected thing happened.

The train braked to a stop. But it wasn't a real stop. As Specs said, it seemed as though the engineer just "hesitated." Almost before the big driving wheels had ceased revolving, and with the nine boys still a good two hundred yards from the track, the engine puffed, the piston rods spun the wheels till the friction caught, and the train, under gathering speed, pounded out of sight.

CHAPTER XIXON THE HANDCAR"Waterloo!" exclaimed Nap."There's a chance yet," Bunny urged. "Maybe she's just moving up to the switch to get on another track.""A fat chance!" said the cynical Specs. "That other track runs to New York or San Francisco or somewhere. No, siree, that train isn't coming back to Harrison City again to-day."As the boys watched the fading black smoke, it grew more and more evident that Specs was right. The train which was to have been their salvation had gone without them.Bunny shook his head stubbornly. "I don't know how we are going to get there, but I mean to keep on trying. Nobody is licked till he gives up, and we are a long way from giving up. Does anybody want to quit?"The "no" that answered was not full-throated, but it satisfied the patrol leader."All right, then; we'll take up the Scout's pace again till we reach the station."It was a few seconds past 10:49 when the boys crossed the tracks; it still lacked a little of 10:50 when Bunny found the young man in charge of the station puttering over a trunk in the baggage room."Oh, you're the one who telephoned about that train?" he said, smiling pleasantly. "Well, she left ahead of time; there's no doubt about that. I don't know why she did any more than you do. She came puffing in, and Mr. Gillen—he's the station master here—hopped on board to speak to the conductor, and the train carried him off, too. Never left before like that, and I don't understand it. Nobody told me a word about it.""Where's the next stop?""Wells Junction. That's just three miles away. They wait there till 11:05 to make connections with the B. & X.""Three miles." Bunny did a little mental arithmetic. "Why, we could catch it there, then, if we just had some way of getting there."The young man became interested. "Did you say there were nine of you? Well, here's a hand car that I was going to send up to the Junction sometime this afternoon. It would be perfectly safe, because there aren't any freights coming, and there isn't another passenger due till midnight. Let's see. You want to go to Deerfield, where you take the 'bus for Belden. Now, you buy tickets for Deerfield, and I will let you take the hand car. If you miss the train for any reason,you can turn in your tickets and get your money back."To Bunny, it seemed altogether too good to be true; but there was no time to waste rejoicing over the news."All right," commented Bi a little heavily, "but I never thought I should have to pay for my own ticket. Still, of course, there's no way out of it."It required the greater portion of the Scouts' ready cash to pay for the thirty-eight-mile trip to Deerfield. Roundy had disappeared, so his ticket had to be purchased out of the common fund; but they had barely worked the hand car to the main track before he hove in sight, his arms full of sandwiches and boxes of crackers."Getting along toward dinner time," he explained, "and nobody knows when we'll get anything to eat, if we don't stock up when we have the chance."The young man at the station gave them a parting word of advice. "You may think the hand car works hard at first, but after you get going it will pretty nearly run itself. Don't waste any time, but roll 'er along as fast as you can. Turn it over to the agent at the Junction and tell him that Jensen sent you. By-by!"The young man was right. The hand car did run loggily at first; but with four hardy Scouts on each handlebar, it slowly gained headway."It's not exactly an automobile," said Specs, between strokes, "but it goes.""You can't puncture the tires, either," added Jump."Somebody punctured this right forward one," suggested S. S., as by jolt and jar the wheel proved that it was no longer as round as it had been.Nap had the solution. "Keep your eyes open, Mr. Sherlock Holmes Bonfire, and when you see a 'Free Air' sign we'll stop."For the first time since the fire, the Black Eagles were actually growing cheerful. They seemed no longer chasing a will-o'-the-wisp hope; at last, they were substantially on their way to victory. The handles fairly flew."I guess old Professor Leland will be glad to see us," chuckled Roundy."And I guess the Belden team won't like it so well," observed Specs."And that party they are going to give us after the game," Bi said, smacking his lips. "I wouldn't miss it for anything."They spun along up a little grade, through a deep cut, and out upon a high trestle."If we were inside the car of a train," Bunny said, "we wouldn't notice a little thing like this." He looked down at a cottage nestling upon the slope below. "I hope there's somebody there with a blanket to catch us if we go over the edge.""Somebody on the path at this side," called Bonfire. "It's a railroad man, too.""How do you know? Is he wearing overalls and carrying an oil can?"Above the clatter-clatter of the hand car, a voice shouted from below.Page207."No, he has on a blue uniform. Might be a conductor; or he may work around a station, or—"Raspingly and distinctly above the clatter-clatter of the hand car, a voice shouted from below."Stop!""He's calling to us.""Let him call. Maybe he's just making a speech to the trestle." Thus Specs."Stop that hand car!"They had already spanned the tiny bridge and were upon the solid track beyond. Just ahead, the rails curved around a steep bank."Let him yell," said Bi defiantly. "He hasn't any way of stopping us, has he? Probably thinks we are stealing this old pushcart. Well, we aren't.""What's he got to do with it, anyhow?" spluttered Nap, plunging harder than ever on the handle. "We had permission to do this, and we're going to do it, Mr. Blue Uniform or not."It was Bunny who settled the matter. Throwing his weight on the bar as it came up, and holding it back as it swung down, he issued his orders as patrol leader. "Everybody hold fast. We're going to stop and find out what he wants."There was a grunt of indignant protest from Specs, but the others obeyed first and talked afterwards."Look here, Bunny," Bi objected, as the car slowed down, "you are running this party and I'm not; so what you say goes. But I don't see any use of stopping.We aren't doing anything wrong. We've been given permission to operate the car. He hasn't any right to tell us we can't, and if he tells us we can—why, we know that already. There he comes now up over the bank. I say, start up again and explain when we get to Wells Junction."Specs chimed in. "We're not going anywhere on our own account; we're going to play baseball for the school. All we're doing by stopping now is asking for trouble."The wheels ground to a dead center.Bunny's lips were set. "I know how you feel. I feel that way myself. But I know we can't do that sort of thing. This man isn't a section hand: he's wearing a uniform; he has a cap; it looks as if he had some right to tell us to stop. I'll put it up to him just as strong as I can, and he may let us go on. If he won't—"The man was within fifty yards of them, running at a clumsy gait up the track. Though puffing and out of wind, he did his best to shout."Take—that—hand car—off the—track!""Like fun we will!" muttered Specs.The man came on, repeating his command. "Take it off—yank it off—right away!"Bunny stiffened. "I don't think you understand—""You young rascals stole this car. Yes, you did. You can't tell me any different." He was with them now; he placed protecting hands on the property of theR. A. & S. Railroad. "If you don't yank it off the track, right on the dot, I'll—"Bunny's eyes narrowed. His hands, quite without any effort on his part, became fists. But he kept his voice level, though it had what Specs called later "a sort of grindstone sound.""We are Boy Scouts," explained Bunny, "and we have been given permission to use the car. We stopped because we thought you had the right to tell us to stop; not because we are afraid of you. We are going to Wells Junction, and if you have nothing better to do than call us names, Mister, we'll keep right on going there."When they talked it over afterward, everybody but Specs agreed that the man changed his style of remarks, not because he was afraid, but because he had begun to understand. However this might be, his next speech was much milder."Permission or not, you will have to yank this car off the track; we can talk about it later.""But why?""Why! Because, if you don't, you're going to be smashed into a million pieces. There is a big special coming through any minute. It's on its way. Now, get that hand car off where it won't be responsible for an accident."Though not trained section hands, the Black Eagles came near making a record in tipping, levering and hoisting the unwieldy hand car to a safe place along theright of way. Once it was safely there, the man in uniform seated himself on it and wiped his forehead."I haven't had such a turn since the bad wreck in '96. Why, when I saw you boys going lickety-split along the track, I was ready to curl up and quit. How did you happen to have the car, anyhow?"As rapidly as possible, Bunny told him the story of the morning's adventures, including the acquisition of the hand car."So Jensen said that, did he? Well, he has been working there about a week, and what he doesn't know about railroading would fill a library. Letting a lot of boys come up the track in a hand car! I never heard of such a thing.""Is your name Gillen?" asked Bonfire suddenly."My name's Gillen. I am the station master at Harrison City. I am responsible for whatever happens around here. There was something the matter with the wires this morning, and the last half-hour every message we received was chopped up like so much sausage. We did not get a word about the special. I hopped on the 11:50—it rolled in at 11:48—to find out what they knew, and they carried me right along. They had orders to run right through to Wells Junction unless they had passengers waiting. They dropped me here at the trestle, and I had just telephoned Jensen about it when I heard you coming. Since I stopped that hand car, I feel about ten years younger."The minutes were ticking away, but there was nothingto be done. With the news of the special on its way, it was plain that any thought of going ahead must be put aside until they could count on a clear track. Already a mile had been covered, but the remaining distance was too great to walk in the limited time left them. No, there was nothing to do but wait.Mr. Gillen went to the house below, to finish his talk over the telephone with Jensen, while the boys fumed to no purpose. It was after eleven o'clock when he returned, and it was almost five minutes later when the special, with its private car, rumbled by with a swish of dust and cinders."I am sorry, boys," said the station master, "but it is against the rules of the road to allow any outsider to take chances like those you were taking. If the special had come nine minutes ago, I should have gone on with you myself; but it's too late now even for that."Bunny looked at his watch. At that very moment, the train which they had tried so desperately to catch must be pulling out of Wells Junction. They had lost their last chance of continuing their trip to Belden in one of its coaches.

ON THE HANDCAR

"Waterloo!" exclaimed Nap.

"There's a chance yet," Bunny urged. "Maybe she's just moving up to the switch to get on another track."

"A fat chance!" said the cynical Specs. "That other track runs to New York or San Francisco or somewhere. No, siree, that train isn't coming back to Harrison City again to-day."

As the boys watched the fading black smoke, it grew more and more evident that Specs was right. The train which was to have been their salvation had gone without them.

Bunny shook his head stubbornly. "I don't know how we are going to get there, but I mean to keep on trying. Nobody is licked till he gives up, and we are a long way from giving up. Does anybody want to quit?"

The "no" that answered was not full-throated, but it satisfied the patrol leader.

"All right, then; we'll take up the Scout's pace again till we reach the station."

It was a few seconds past 10:49 when the boys crossed the tracks; it still lacked a little of 10:50 when Bunny found the young man in charge of the station puttering over a trunk in the baggage room.

"Oh, you're the one who telephoned about that train?" he said, smiling pleasantly. "Well, she left ahead of time; there's no doubt about that. I don't know why she did any more than you do. She came puffing in, and Mr. Gillen—he's the station master here—hopped on board to speak to the conductor, and the train carried him off, too. Never left before like that, and I don't understand it. Nobody told me a word about it."

"Where's the next stop?"

"Wells Junction. That's just three miles away. They wait there till 11:05 to make connections with the B. & X."

"Three miles." Bunny did a little mental arithmetic. "Why, we could catch it there, then, if we just had some way of getting there."

The young man became interested. "Did you say there were nine of you? Well, here's a hand car that I was going to send up to the Junction sometime this afternoon. It would be perfectly safe, because there aren't any freights coming, and there isn't another passenger due till midnight. Let's see. You want to go to Deerfield, where you take the 'bus for Belden. Now, you buy tickets for Deerfield, and I will let you take the hand car. If you miss the train for any reason,you can turn in your tickets and get your money back."

To Bunny, it seemed altogether too good to be true; but there was no time to waste rejoicing over the news.

"All right," commented Bi a little heavily, "but I never thought I should have to pay for my own ticket. Still, of course, there's no way out of it."

It required the greater portion of the Scouts' ready cash to pay for the thirty-eight-mile trip to Deerfield. Roundy had disappeared, so his ticket had to be purchased out of the common fund; but they had barely worked the hand car to the main track before he hove in sight, his arms full of sandwiches and boxes of crackers.

"Getting along toward dinner time," he explained, "and nobody knows when we'll get anything to eat, if we don't stock up when we have the chance."

The young man at the station gave them a parting word of advice. "You may think the hand car works hard at first, but after you get going it will pretty nearly run itself. Don't waste any time, but roll 'er along as fast as you can. Turn it over to the agent at the Junction and tell him that Jensen sent you. By-by!"

The young man was right. The hand car did run loggily at first; but with four hardy Scouts on each handlebar, it slowly gained headway.

"It's not exactly an automobile," said Specs, between strokes, "but it goes."

"You can't puncture the tires, either," added Jump.

"Somebody punctured this right forward one," suggested S. S., as by jolt and jar the wheel proved that it was no longer as round as it had been.

Nap had the solution. "Keep your eyes open, Mr. Sherlock Holmes Bonfire, and when you see a 'Free Air' sign we'll stop."

For the first time since the fire, the Black Eagles were actually growing cheerful. They seemed no longer chasing a will-o'-the-wisp hope; at last, they were substantially on their way to victory. The handles fairly flew.

"I guess old Professor Leland will be glad to see us," chuckled Roundy.

"And I guess the Belden team won't like it so well," observed Specs.

"And that party they are going to give us after the game," Bi said, smacking his lips. "I wouldn't miss it for anything."

They spun along up a little grade, through a deep cut, and out upon a high trestle.

"If we were inside the car of a train," Bunny said, "we wouldn't notice a little thing like this." He looked down at a cottage nestling upon the slope below. "I hope there's somebody there with a blanket to catch us if we go over the edge."

"Somebody on the path at this side," called Bonfire. "It's a railroad man, too."

"How do you know? Is he wearing overalls and carrying an oil can?"

Above the clatter-clatter of the hand car, a voice shouted from below.Page207.

Above the clatter-clatter of the hand car, a voice shouted from below.Page207.

Above the clatter-clatter of the hand car, a voice shouted from below.Page207.

"No, he has on a blue uniform. Might be a conductor; or he may work around a station, or—"

Raspingly and distinctly above the clatter-clatter of the hand car, a voice shouted from below.

"Stop!"

"He's calling to us."

"Let him call. Maybe he's just making a speech to the trestle." Thus Specs.

"Stop that hand car!"

They had already spanned the tiny bridge and were upon the solid track beyond. Just ahead, the rails curved around a steep bank.

"Let him yell," said Bi defiantly. "He hasn't any way of stopping us, has he? Probably thinks we are stealing this old pushcart. Well, we aren't."

"What's he got to do with it, anyhow?" spluttered Nap, plunging harder than ever on the handle. "We had permission to do this, and we're going to do it, Mr. Blue Uniform or not."

It was Bunny who settled the matter. Throwing his weight on the bar as it came up, and holding it back as it swung down, he issued his orders as patrol leader. "Everybody hold fast. We're going to stop and find out what he wants."

There was a grunt of indignant protest from Specs, but the others obeyed first and talked afterwards.

"Look here, Bunny," Bi objected, as the car slowed down, "you are running this party and I'm not; so what you say goes. But I don't see any use of stopping.We aren't doing anything wrong. We've been given permission to operate the car. He hasn't any right to tell us we can't, and if he tells us we can—why, we know that already. There he comes now up over the bank. I say, start up again and explain when we get to Wells Junction."

Specs chimed in. "We're not going anywhere on our own account; we're going to play baseball for the school. All we're doing by stopping now is asking for trouble."

The wheels ground to a dead center.

Bunny's lips were set. "I know how you feel. I feel that way myself. But I know we can't do that sort of thing. This man isn't a section hand: he's wearing a uniform; he has a cap; it looks as if he had some right to tell us to stop. I'll put it up to him just as strong as I can, and he may let us go on. If he won't—"

The man was within fifty yards of them, running at a clumsy gait up the track. Though puffing and out of wind, he did his best to shout.

"Take—that—hand car—off the—track!"

"Like fun we will!" muttered Specs.

The man came on, repeating his command. "Take it off—yank it off—right away!"

Bunny stiffened. "I don't think you understand—"

"You young rascals stole this car. Yes, you did. You can't tell me any different." He was with them now; he placed protecting hands on the property of theR. A. & S. Railroad. "If you don't yank it off the track, right on the dot, I'll—"

Bunny's eyes narrowed. His hands, quite without any effort on his part, became fists. But he kept his voice level, though it had what Specs called later "a sort of grindstone sound."

"We are Boy Scouts," explained Bunny, "and we have been given permission to use the car. We stopped because we thought you had the right to tell us to stop; not because we are afraid of you. We are going to Wells Junction, and if you have nothing better to do than call us names, Mister, we'll keep right on going there."

When they talked it over afterward, everybody but Specs agreed that the man changed his style of remarks, not because he was afraid, but because he had begun to understand. However this might be, his next speech was much milder.

"Permission or not, you will have to yank this car off the track; we can talk about it later."

"But why?"

"Why! Because, if you don't, you're going to be smashed into a million pieces. There is a big special coming through any minute. It's on its way. Now, get that hand car off where it won't be responsible for an accident."

Though not trained section hands, the Black Eagles came near making a record in tipping, levering and hoisting the unwieldy hand car to a safe place along theright of way. Once it was safely there, the man in uniform seated himself on it and wiped his forehead.

"I haven't had such a turn since the bad wreck in '96. Why, when I saw you boys going lickety-split along the track, I was ready to curl up and quit. How did you happen to have the car, anyhow?"

As rapidly as possible, Bunny told him the story of the morning's adventures, including the acquisition of the hand car.

"So Jensen said that, did he? Well, he has been working there about a week, and what he doesn't know about railroading would fill a library. Letting a lot of boys come up the track in a hand car! I never heard of such a thing."

"Is your name Gillen?" asked Bonfire suddenly.

"My name's Gillen. I am the station master at Harrison City. I am responsible for whatever happens around here. There was something the matter with the wires this morning, and the last half-hour every message we received was chopped up like so much sausage. We did not get a word about the special. I hopped on the 11:50—it rolled in at 11:48—to find out what they knew, and they carried me right along. They had orders to run right through to Wells Junction unless they had passengers waiting. They dropped me here at the trestle, and I had just telephoned Jensen about it when I heard you coming. Since I stopped that hand car, I feel about ten years younger."

The minutes were ticking away, but there was nothingto be done. With the news of the special on its way, it was plain that any thought of going ahead must be put aside until they could count on a clear track. Already a mile had been covered, but the remaining distance was too great to walk in the limited time left them. No, there was nothing to do but wait.

Mr. Gillen went to the house below, to finish his talk over the telephone with Jensen, while the boys fumed to no purpose. It was after eleven o'clock when he returned, and it was almost five minutes later when the special, with its private car, rumbled by with a swish of dust and cinders.

"I am sorry, boys," said the station master, "but it is against the rules of the road to allow any outsider to take chances like those you were taking. If the special had come nine minutes ago, I should have gone on with you myself; but it's too late now even for that."

Bunny looked at his watch. At that very moment, the train which they had tried so desperately to catch must be pulling out of Wells Junction. They had lost their last chance of continuing their trip to Belden in one of its coaches.

CHAPTER XXBUSTED!Bi broke the silence. "I'm getting mad," he said. "It's almost as though somebody was trying to keep us from playing that Belden game. Well, I'm going to Belden, even if I have to walk.""Walking is cheap, anyhow," sympathized Specs. "By the way, Mr. Gillen, don't you think you might loan us the hand car just this once, so we can get to Deerpark—or whatever its name is?"The station master laughed "You couldn't pump it there on time if I did let you try, and I won't. But I will tell you boys what you can do.""What's that?" queried Bunny, feeling very much as if a spark of sunshine had just shoved its way through some particularly black clouds."Some of the farmers around here own automobiles. Now, a motor car would get you to Belden just as quick as going on the R. A. & S. to Deerfield and then waiting for a 'bus. Why don't you try? They can't do any more than say 'no' to you.""It's the only thing we can do now," agreed Bunny."No, it isn't," Roundy interrupted. "There's oneother thing we can do, and that is—eat! We don't know when we'll be ready to tuck our legs under a table. So if nobody wants any of this truck I bought at Harrison City, I'll take care of it myself."But the Scouts, with something like an Indian war-whoop, made it clear that they had no intention of being left out when it came to sandwiches and sweet crackers. Even Mr. Gillen, after some urging, ate a handful of ginger snaps and told them the story of the big wreck in '96. When the lunch ended, indeed, the boys were rather sorry to part with the station master, whose last words were a promise to let them all ride in an engine cab the next time they reached Harrison City."You will find the road just beyond that little hill," he said. "There is at least one farmhouse not more than a half mile from here. Now, don't forget that I am going to take you all riding on one of the R. A. & S.'s biggest engines when I see you again."It was 11:25 when the boys struck the wagon road, paralleling the track, and 11:28 when they encountered a small boy with a fishing pole over his shoulder.Was this the road to Belden? The small boy couldn't be sure; Belden was "a awful long ways"; maybe the road ran to Belden and maybe it didn't."We'll find out soon enough," said Bunny. "How about motor cars? Does anybody around here own an automobile?"The small boy nodded vigorously. "You see thatpeddler's wagon up the road there, where the horse is standing under the tree? Well, right on the other side of the road, up a piece, there's Mr. Jenkins' house. He's got an automobile—a awful big one.""Does he ever rent it?""Hold on," Bi protested; "it takes real money to rent a car, and I'll bet there isn't more than three dollars in the crowd.""We can pay for the gas and oil, anyhow, and when we get to Belden Horace Hibbs will lend us the rest. The question is, does he rent it?""He takes people out sometimes," admitted the small boy."Then the next stop is Jenkins'," Bunny announced. "Bi, you had better act as treasurer and handle the money. Here's twenty-eight cents; that leaves me without anything.""Better say 'busted'," put in slangy Specs, "so we'll know what you mean."As they hurried down the road, the boys turned over to Bi all the stray dimes, nickels and coppers from their pockets, totaling altogether two dollars and one cent."Enough to buy the car!" commented Specs."At that, we are better off than our friend, the peddler," observed Bonfire. "Something has happened to his right front wheel, and he doesn't seem to know what to do.""And something has happened to him," S. S. remarked."Judging from his looks, he might have been run through a wringer."The peddler was a lean, hollow-cheeked man, whose black moustache only made his pale face the whiter. As the boys came up, he was squinting ruefully at the broken wheel; its tire and splintered spokes seemed to be almost beyond repair. But when they halted by the side of the wagon, he turned and smiled good-naturedly."It's busted," he said, "and the more I see of it, the more busted it looks."The boys surveyed the wheel critically."I don't think you can go on with that till you've done business with a blacksmith," decided Bi."That's just what I think, too. It's a second-hand wagon and about a fifth-hand horse." He patted the animal's lean flank. "But I hoped they would both hold together till I was fairly started. You see, I was working in the factory over at Charles City till a cleated belt and I came together in a clinch. After the doctor was through patching me up, he said I would have to stay outdoors. So I bought this outfit and was just starting my new business when the wheel busted.""There is a good blacksmith shop back in Harrison City," Bunny suggested. "You can prop up the wagon and carry the wheel there on horseback."The peddler nodded. "That's all right up to the point where I have to pay for fixing the wheel, andthen—" He stopped with a little laugh. "Flat busted," he confessed. "Why, if I didn't figure that my luck was going to change, I should go right up and knock on the front door of the poorhouse. The wheel's busted; I'm busted. What's more, the stuff I have on the wagon won't sell until I get past Harrison City, because they tell me that three peddlers have been along here in the last week."An uncomfortable silence followed, which was finally broken by Bunny's saying awkwardly that it was time to move on."Good luck, boys, wherever you're going!" The peddler waved his hand in friendly farewell. "And if you see a stray wheel rolling down the pike, I wish you would steer it my way."The patrol had gone less than one hundred yards when Bunny broke out with an abrupt, "Wait a minute!"For some reason, the eight Scouts and the attached Prissler were all ready and willing to stop."He can't fix that wheel.""Of course, he can't.""He'll have to go to some blacksmith shop.""He's not any too well, either, and chances are he has a family to support.""Well?" said Nap. He repeated the word, "Well?""It's no use," sighed Jump. "I don't want to do it, but there's no way out. I'd feel a lot better, Bi,if you'd take my share of the money and give it to him.""Same here," agreed S. S. Without any sort of hesitation or argument, the patrol commissioned Bi to carry the two dollars and the one cent to the unfortunate peddler.Bi raced down the road, while the other eight jogged slowly, awaiting his return. When he rejoined them, he was breathless but wore a satisfied smile."What happened? What did he say?" They were eager for the news."Well, he didn't understand at first; thought I was trying to buy something. When he did understand, though, that we wanted to give him the money, he bent down and began looking at the wheel, and something got in his eyes. I didn't wait to hear all his story, but he told me enough to give a pretty good idea. He has a family in Charles City, and he left every cent with them, to keep things going. But he wouldn't take our money as a gift; wanted to know where he should send it when he could repay the loan. So I gave him Bunny's name and address."Specs was the first to speak. "I'm glad we helped him out," he said, "but now we'd better think about ourselves. What are we going to do, now that the whole outfit's—busted?"Bunny shrugged his shoulders. "It would be better to have money, of course, but if we haven't any, we can manage somehow without it."They were opposite the Jenkins farm. Through the pines, the house was visible, set far back from the highway. Specs halted."You mean that farmer there will pay any attention to us if we can't show him our money first?""That's just what I do mean. We are not the only people in the world who do good turns. A lot of folks get fun out of good turns who never heard of the Boy Scouts."Specs frowned. "And you think this farmer will take us to Belden, when all we can do is to promise him that we will pay him after we get there and borrow the money?""We'll find out. We'll tell him just the fix we're in and how we expect to get the money to pay him; and if he is any kind of a judge of people, he will know we are speaking the truth.""He may know we're speaking the truth," said Specs decisively, "but when you ask him to risk his gasoline and his car, he'll say he has something else to do. But come along; you'll see I'm right."They turned into the driveway; it led to a little lawn just in front of a white house with green blinds."There's the car," said Nap, pointing to a bulky automobile visible through the open door of a homemade garage."And back there is the man who owns it," said Bonfire. "Hear that? He's behind the house, hoeing.""You don't know whether it's a man, woman or child," answered Specs. He stooped and picked up a stone. "I suppose if I chuck this over here, you can tell me whether it lights on an ant hill or on a yellow dandelion."Jerking his arm, he shot the stone in the direction of the corner of the house. From the rear, a second later, came the crash and jingle of breaking glass."Yes, I can tell you where it lit," said Bonfire cheerfully. "It lit on a cold frame. You sent the stone right through it. And here comes the man I was telling you about. If you had kept your eyes open, you would have noticed that his coat and hat are lying over there in the grass."From behind the house, hoe in hand, stalked a tall, big-fisted farmer, whose beetling eyebrows and scraggly beard gave him a most forbidding appearance."Who busted that pane of glass?" he called angrily."Busted!" whispered Specs. "The peddler was busted, the wagon was busted, we're busted, and now the cold frame is busted. Is there anything anywhere that isn't busted?" Aloud he said, "I did it; I threw the stone."Bunny interposed hurriedly. "It was a mistake. We didn't know the cold frame was there.""Mistake, huh?" His frown deepened. "Well, I suppose you can pay for your mistakes?"Bunny shook his head. "We can't pay for it now; we haven't a cent. But the nine of us must be in Belden by three o'clock this afternoon. If you will take us there in your car we will see that you get paid for the trip and for the broken glass, too."The farmer stared angrily. "Is that all you have to say?"Bunny took a step forward. "No," he said mildly. "If you don't care to take us, I will leave my watch with you until I can send you the money for the broken glass. It is a five-dollar watch, so you can be sure it's worth more to me than the price of one pane of glass. And if you will let us use your telephone, while we try to rent an automobile somewhere, I'll be glad to send you the money for every call."It is not easy for an angry man to remain angry when the person with whom he wishes to quarrel keeps his temper. For a solid ten seconds the farmer frowned; then his eyebrows raised and his balled fists unclenched."Look here," he began awkwardly, "I'm not such a hard man as all that. I don't want your watch. Tell me why you are all bent on getting to Belden by three o'clock."As briefly as possible, Bunny related the misadventures of their trip."You're a plucky lot," commented the farmer when the boy had finished. "And I should be glad to take you, for nothing, because I counted on driving toBelden myself this afternoon. But I can't go, and I can't take you, because—"Tense and eager, the nine boys listened for the reason."—because the car is busted.""Busted!" repeated Specs dolefully. "I knew it all the time. Everybody and everything is busted!"

BUSTED!

Bi broke the silence. "I'm getting mad," he said. "It's almost as though somebody was trying to keep us from playing that Belden game. Well, I'm going to Belden, even if I have to walk."

"Walking is cheap, anyhow," sympathized Specs. "By the way, Mr. Gillen, don't you think you might loan us the hand car just this once, so we can get to Deerpark—or whatever its name is?"

The station master laughed "You couldn't pump it there on time if I did let you try, and I won't. But I will tell you boys what you can do."

"What's that?" queried Bunny, feeling very much as if a spark of sunshine had just shoved its way through some particularly black clouds.

"Some of the farmers around here own automobiles. Now, a motor car would get you to Belden just as quick as going on the R. A. & S. to Deerfield and then waiting for a 'bus. Why don't you try? They can't do any more than say 'no' to you."

"It's the only thing we can do now," agreed Bunny.

"No, it isn't," Roundy interrupted. "There's oneother thing we can do, and that is—eat! We don't know when we'll be ready to tuck our legs under a table. So if nobody wants any of this truck I bought at Harrison City, I'll take care of it myself."

But the Scouts, with something like an Indian war-whoop, made it clear that they had no intention of being left out when it came to sandwiches and sweet crackers. Even Mr. Gillen, after some urging, ate a handful of ginger snaps and told them the story of the big wreck in '96. When the lunch ended, indeed, the boys were rather sorry to part with the station master, whose last words were a promise to let them all ride in an engine cab the next time they reached Harrison City.

"You will find the road just beyond that little hill," he said. "There is at least one farmhouse not more than a half mile from here. Now, don't forget that I am going to take you all riding on one of the R. A. & S.'s biggest engines when I see you again."

It was 11:25 when the boys struck the wagon road, paralleling the track, and 11:28 when they encountered a small boy with a fishing pole over his shoulder.

Was this the road to Belden? The small boy couldn't be sure; Belden was "a awful long ways"; maybe the road ran to Belden and maybe it didn't.

"We'll find out soon enough," said Bunny. "How about motor cars? Does anybody around here own an automobile?"

The small boy nodded vigorously. "You see thatpeddler's wagon up the road there, where the horse is standing under the tree? Well, right on the other side of the road, up a piece, there's Mr. Jenkins' house. He's got an automobile—a awful big one."

"Does he ever rent it?"

"Hold on," Bi protested; "it takes real money to rent a car, and I'll bet there isn't more than three dollars in the crowd."

"We can pay for the gas and oil, anyhow, and when we get to Belden Horace Hibbs will lend us the rest. The question is, does he rent it?"

"He takes people out sometimes," admitted the small boy.

"Then the next stop is Jenkins'," Bunny announced. "Bi, you had better act as treasurer and handle the money. Here's twenty-eight cents; that leaves me without anything."

"Better say 'busted'," put in slangy Specs, "so we'll know what you mean."

As they hurried down the road, the boys turned over to Bi all the stray dimes, nickels and coppers from their pockets, totaling altogether two dollars and one cent.

"Enough to buy the car!" commented Specs.

"At that, we are better off than our friend, the peddler," observed Bonfire. "Something has happened to his right front wheel, and he doesn't seem to know what to do."

"And something has happened to him," S. S. remarked."Judging from his looks, he might have been run through a wringer."

The peddler was a lean, hollow-cheeked man, whose black moustache only made his pale face the whiter. As the boys came up, he was squinting ruefully at the broken wheel; its tire and splintered spokes seemed to be almost beyond repair. But when they halted by the side of the wagon, he turned and smiled good-naturedly.

"It's busted," he said, "and the more I see of it, the more busted it looks."

The boys surveyed the wheel critically.

"I don't think you can go on with that till you've done business with a blacksmith," decided Bi.

"That's just what I think, too. It's a second-hand wagon and about a fifth-hand horse." He patted the animal's lean flank. "But I hoped they would both hold together till I was fairly started. You see, I was working in the factory over at Charles City till a cleated belt and I came together in a clinch. After the doctor was through patching me up, he said I would have to stay outdoors. So I bought this outfit and was just starting my new business when the wheel busted."

"There is a good blacksmith shop back in Harrison City," Bunny suggested. "You can prop up the wagon and carry the wheel there on horseback."

The peddler nodded. "That's all right up to the point where I have to pay for fixing the wheel, andthen—" He stopped with a little laugh. "Flat busted," he confessed. "Why, if I didn't figure that my luck was going to change, I should go right up and knock on the front door of the poorhouse. The wheel's busted; I'm busted. What's more, the stuff I have on the wagon won't sell until I get past Harrison City, because they tell me that three peddlers have been along here in the last week."

An uncomfortable silence followed, which was finally broken by Bunny's saying awkwardly that it was time to move on.

"Good luck, boys, wherever you're going!" The peddler waved his hand in friendly farewell. "And if you see a stray wheel rolling down the pike, I wish you would steer it my way."

The patrol had gone less than one hundred yards when Bunny broke out with an abrupt, "Wait a minute!"

For some reason, the eight Scouts and the attached Prissler were all ready and willing to stop.

"He can't fix that wheel."

"Of course, he can't."

"He'll have to go to some blacksmith shop."

"He's not any too well, either, and chances are he has a family to support."

"Well?" said Nap. He repeated the word, "Well?"

"It's no use," sighed Jump. "I don't want to do it, but there's no way out. I'd feel a lot better, Bi,if you'd take my share of the money and give it to him."

"Same here," agreed S. S. Without any sort of hesitation or argument, the patrol commissioned Bi to carry the two dollars and the one cent to the unfortunate peddler.

Bi raced down the road, while the other eight jogged slowly, awaiting his return. When he rejoined them, he was breathless but wore a satisfied smile.

"What happened? What did he say?" They were eager for the news.

"Well, he didn't understand at first; thought I was trying to buy something. When he did understand, though, that we wanted to give him the money, he bent down and began looking at the wheel, and something got in his eyes. I didn't wait to hear all his story, but he told me enough to give a pretty good idea. He has a family in Charles City, and he left every cent with them, to keep things going. But he wouldn't take our money as a gift; wanted to know where he should send it when he could repay the loan. So I gave him Bunny's name and address."

Specs was the first to speak. "I'm glad we helped him out," he said, "but now we'd better think about ourselves. What are we going to do, now that the whole outfit's—busted?"

Bunny shrugged his shoulders. "It would be better to have money, of course, but if we haven't any, we can manage somehow without it."

They were opposite the Jenkins farm. Through the pines, the house was visible, set far back from the highway. Specs halted.

"You mean that farmer there will pay any attention to us if we can't show him our money first?"

"That's just what I do mean. We are not the only people in the world who do good turns. A lot of folks get fun out of good turns who never heard of the Boy Scouts."

Specs frowned. "And you think this farmer will take us to Belden, when all we can do is to promise him that we will pay him after we get there and borrow the money?"

"We'll find out. We'll tell him just the fix we're in and how we expect to get the money to pay him; and if he is any kind of a judge of people, he will know we are speaking the truth."

"He may know we're speaking the truth," said Specs decisively, "but when you ask him to risk his gasoline and his car, he'll say he has something else to do. But come along; you'll see I'm right."

They turned into the driveway; it led to a little lawn just in front of a white house with green blinds.

"There's the car," said Nap, pointing to a bulky automobile visible through the open door of a homemade garage.

"And back there is the man who owns it," said Bonfire. "Hear that? He's behind the house, hoeing."

"You don't know whether it's a man, woman or child," answered Specs. He stooped and picked up a stone. "I suppose if I chuck this over here, you can tell me whether it lights on an ant hill or on a yellow dandelion."

Jerking his arm, he shot the stone in the direction of the corner of the house. From the rear, a second later, came the crash and jingle of breaking glass.

"Yes, I can tell you where it lit," said Bonfire cheerfully. "It lit on a cold frame. You sent the stone right through it. And here comes the man I was telling you about. If you had kept your eyes open, you would have noticed that his coat and hat are lying over there in the grass."

From behind the house, hoe in hand, stalked a tall, big-fisted farmer, whose beetling eyebrows and scraggly beard gave him a most forbidding appearance.

"Who busted that pane of glass?" he called angrily.

"Busted!" whispered Specs. "The peddler was busted, the wagon was busted, we're busted, and now the cold frame is busted. Is there anything anywhere that isn't busted?" Aloud he said, "I did it; I threw the stone."

Bunny interposed hurriedly. "It was a mistake. We didn't know the cold frame was there."

"Mistake, huh?" His frown deepened. "Well, I suppose you can pay for your mistakes?"

Bunny shook his head. "We can't pay for it now; we haven't a cent. But the nine of us must be in Belden by three o'clock this afternoon. If you will take us there in your car we will see that you get paid for the trip and for the broken glass, too."

The farmer stared angrily. "Is that all you have to say?"

Bunny took a step forward. "No," he said mildly. "If you don't care to take us, I will leave my watch with you until I can send you the money for the broken glass. It is a five-dollar watch, so you can be sure it's worth more to me than the price of one pane of glass. And if you will let us use your telephone, while we try to rent an automobile somewhere, I'll be glad to send you the money for every call."

It is not easy for an angry man to remain angry when the person with whom he wishes to quarrel keeps his temper. For a solid ten seconds the farmer frowned; then his eyebrows raised and his balled fists unclenched.

"Look here," he began awkwardly, "I'm not such a hard man as all that. I don't want your watch. Tell me why you are all bent on getting to Belden by three o'clock."

As briefly as possible, Bunny related the misadventures of their trip.

"You're a plucky lot," commented the farmer when the boy had finished. "And I should be glad to take you, for nothing, because I counted on driving toBelden myself this afternoon. But I can't go, and I can't take you, because—"

Tense and eager, the nine boys listened for the reason.

"—because the car is busted."

"Busted!" repeated Specs dolefully. "I knew it all the time. Everybody and everything is busted!"

CHAPTER XXIBORROWERS' LUCKWith something of an effort, Bunny wrenched his gaze from the back of the disappointing automobile and turned to Specs."No, not everybody," he said, striving hard to be cheerful. "There's the peddler, you know; he isn't busted any more—quite!""What peddler?" The farmer lifted an inquiring head.Everybody squirmed uncomfortably. It was the code of the Black Eagle Patrol not to talk about the good turns it did, because that sounded like bragging. But the farmer was persistent. Bit by bit, with question and guess and prompting, he pieced out the story: how the boys had found the peddler on the road, with his second-hand wagon that had come to grief; how he had confessed he had no money for the necessary repairs; how the boys, because they were Scouts and it was their duty to do a good turn when they could, had given him their last cent and sped him on his way rejoicing. When the last scrap of confession had beendragged from them, the farmer held out his hand to Bunny."So you are the patrol leader, are you, Payton? Well, I am glad to know a boy like you. Jenkins is my name; Alfred Jenkins."Gravely, Bunny introduced the other Scouts. "And this is young Prissler," he concluded. "He is training to be a tenderfoot, and just as soon as there is a vacancy in the patrol he will be taken in.""So?" Mr. Jenkins nodded understandingly. He scratched at his beard. "I reckon," he added, "you get a lot of satisfaction doing good turns like that. By ginger, I'd like to have that feeling myself. If the old 'bus would only run—""What's the matter with it?" demanded the practical Specs.Mr. Jenkins spread his hands helplessly. "I wish I knew. But I'm no mechanic. She's just dead; dead on her feet, you might say. Won't go. Won't even start.""Gas line clogged, maybe.""Loose connections.""Carburetor float stuck.""Magneto points burned off."The farmer's eyes kindled before this volley of suggestions. "Say," he exclaimed, "do you boys know anything about a car?""A little," Bunny nodded. "Specs here is trying for a merit badge for automobiling, and we all got sortof interested in his studying. You have to know a good deal about a car to get that badge.""Well, say!" Mr. Jenkins was as eager as a youngster. "Say, let's trundle her out here and look her over. You might find out what's wrong."Because Specs had honestly devoted a great deal of his spare time to his ambition of qualifying for a merit badge in automobiling, Bunny put him in charge. It was no trick at all, of course, to release the brake and roll the car out of the homemade garage. Once in the open, Specs hopped into the front seat."No, that self-starter hasn't worked for a long time," Mr. Jenkins confessed, as the Scout pressed a tentative foot against it and cocked his ear expectantly for the hum of the motor. "Batteries dead, I 'spose. You'll have to crank her.""All right, Bi!" called Specs; "you're the boy to wind her up."Bi grimaced. He might need his good right arm for pitching that afternoon. But at a nod from Bunny, he sprang readily enough to the crank. Unless the car started, it looked like there wouldn't be any baseball game to play.Balancing the crank once or twice against the compression, he lifted it suddenly and spun it with all his might. But no explosion signaled the success of his effort. Bi straightened up to catch his breath and wipe off the perspiration that was trickling down his face."Try her again," Specs ordered. "I'll work the spark when you get going."Bi bent to his task for the second time. Round and round whirled the crank. But, as before, the motor refused to "catch.""Prime her," suggested Bonfire.Once more Bi cranked till he was ready to drop. In the meantime, Bonfire began prowling about and muttering to himself: "Tank full. Gas flows all right. Carburetor float not stuck. Must be the ignition." He tested with a long-bladed screwdriver. "Yep; no spark. Sure you've—Hello! Why, you muckle-headed McGrew, do you expect to get a merit badge for trying to start a motor without throwing on the switch?""What!" Bi threw himself on the ground and kicked feebly. "Do you mean to say I've been cranking my head off when you didn't even throw over the switch? Help!"Specs grinned sheepishly. "I thought you needed the exercise," he said. "All right; she'll start now."But she wouldn't. Bi cranked till he was red in the face, without the reward of even one feeble puff from the exhaust. With a last spin of the handle, for good measure, he stepped back disgustedly."If anybody else thinks he can twist her tail any better than that," he announced, "let him step up and try. I'm through; postilutely through."By this time, even Specs was ready to admit thatthe motor was "busted." "It's the ignition," he explained. "As soon as we find out why she doesn't get a spark, we can fix her in a jiffy."But discovering the nub of the trouble proved no easy job. The spark plugs were taken out; all connections were examined; each wire was traced to coil and magneto; the magneto itself came in for critical inspection. But no break or short circuit revealed itself. Already, the first glowing enthusiasm of the boys was blowing cold and dead.Bonfire snapped the switch backward and forward. "Feels loose," he said. "Let me have that screwdriver, Specs." With deft hands, he removed the face of the switch-box. "Here's the little nigger in the woodpile, fellows!" he called exultingly. "See, those loose nuts allow the contact plate to drop down. The circuit is not completed even when you throw on the switch. No wonder she won't run!" He twirled the nuts with his fingers and clamped them tight with a wrench. "Now try her.""Not me!" jeered Bi. "I've cranked her from here to Belden already. Let somebody else crank her home again." But even while he talked, he was walking toward the front of the car. Roundy reached for the swinging handle, only to be pushed aside by Bi. With scarcely an effort, the strongest Scout in the patrol turned her over again—and the motor sprang into life with a roar."Throttle her down!" Bi shouted to Specs. "Wakeup there! Don't let her race! If ever you win a merit badge for automobiling, I'll eat it for breakfast. Isn't he rotten, Mr. Jenkins?"The farmer smiled. "Oh, he'll pass, I reckon. Now, let me see. Five of you on the back seat, two on the collapsible chairs—that's seven—and two of you on the front seat here with me. Wait just a minute till I get my coat and tell my wife I'm going, and we'll start.""With any kind of luck at all," Bunny promised happily, looking at his watch, "we should be at the Belden ball park a little after one o'clock. It's 11:42 right now, and we have about thirty-seven miles to cover."Specs held up his hand. "I've got my fingers crossed," he said. "Don't forget all the things that have happened to us so far to-day. Touch wood when you say that, Bunny."But luck seemed at last to be roosting with the Black Eagle Patrol. Once out upon the main highway, the motor settled down to a contented purr, with never a miss or hint of trouble, and the big car rolled placidly toward Belden, piling the miles behind it quite as if it were shod with seven-league boots instead of rubber tires. Mr. Jenkins admitted that he was "no great shucks at driving", but he more than made up for any lack of technical skill by his careful and common-sense handling of wheel and accelerator. An hour before, Belden had seemed to the Scouts some far spot on therim of the world; now, as everybody felt, it lay just over the hill.There is no denying that the boys enjoyed the ride. More than once, they had watched enviously as Royal Sheffield dashed into Lakeville with his trim roadster; more than once, too, if the truth be known, they had lingered hungrily as he backed it out of Grady's barn after school and made ready for the homeward trip. But Sheffield lived in Charlesboro, and his motoring was done largely in the roads about that village. True, the Sefton automobile never had a vacant seat when any boy could be found to fit it; but Mr. Sefton used the car for business, and it was also frequently out of town. This was different, too; this was a cross-country jaunt, over unfamiliar roads, mile upon mile, with every turn and rise revealing new wonders."Like it?" asked Mr. Jenkins, without turning his head.There was no adequate way of expressing their gratitude and pleasure, but the farmer seemed well content with Specs' explosive, "You bet we do!" It was curious about Mr. Jenkins. He owned the car, and he must have ridden thousands of miles in it; yet he seemed to be getting just as much fun out of this trip as any of his guests. "Haven't felt so young in thirty years," he said once, with a chuckle, as he swung wide to avoid a bump.On and on sang the car: uphill, biting on second speed; across a bit of tableland, feeling its oats onhigh; down a long incline, pulsing with such eagerness that it had to be restrained; through wood roads, bowered with cool, overhanging trees; into the bright sunshine again; past farmhouses, with barking dogs and waving people; over long stretches of concrete, that gave back never a jounce or jolt; through sleepy little villages, waking and nodding a single welcome and good-by in one; out into the country once more, between green fields of sprouting corn and wheat; and on and on, motor humming drowsily and rubber-tired wheels crisping their chorus. It was good just to be outdoors on such a day in June.They climbed a long, winding hill. At the top was a little cottage, bordered by a trim lawn, which was splashed here and there with gay flower plots. In the background loomed a barn, more than twice the size of the house, with a silo at one side and a windmill just beyond. Mr. Jenkins squinted meditatively from the spout of his radiator, steaming a bit, to the windmill."Reckon we'd better stop for water," he announced.A gray, bent wisp of a man answered his knock on the door and listened gravely to his request for the loan of a pail. He seemed to be looking, not at Mr. Jenkins, but through him, as if he were only vaguely aware of the other's presence. But he said, "Oh, yes," and brought the pail.It took only a minute to fill the radiator. Mr. Jenkins began to screw on the cap, while the boys piledback into the car. Bunny picked up the pail and carried it to the house. As he lifted his hand to knock on the door, he heard something that made him hesitate.Inside the house, a woman was crying softly, and a man's voice was soothing, over and over, "Now, Ma! Now, Ma! Don't take on so! It can't be helped! Now, Ma! Now, Ma!"After a moment of indecision, Bunny rapped. The sobbing stopped. Footsteps approached the door, and presently it was opened, a little hesitatingly, by the man from whom Mr. Jenkins had borrowed the pail. Bunny extended it to him, with a word of thanks. He had meant to turn away at once, but something seemed to hold him."Is—is anything wrong there?" he asked, jerking his thumb toward the darkened room within."It's just Ma," the little man told him. He spoke meekly, almost apologetically, but his high-pitched voice carried clearly to the other boys. "She's all broke up over not seein' John.""John?" Bunny put a question in the word; then, when it brought no reply, he added, at a hazard, "He's your son, sir?""Yes, John's our boy. He's a good boy, John is. But he's been away a long time, and now—""Is he coming home?"The man raised his hand as if to ward off a blow. "No," he said in a wavering voice. "He's going away, mebbe for years; going away to China. He'san engineer, John is; works for a big construction company in New York City. This spring he wrote that he would come home to visit Ma and me. So we tidied up all about for him." The little man waved an expressive hand, and Bunny understood, all at once, why the grass was so neatly cropped, and why the flowers studded the lawn, and why the pathway to the door was made of clean, white pebbles. It had all been done for their son. "But to-day we got a telegram—delayed, they said over the 'phone. He can't come. He's ordered to China, right away, to help build a new railroad. His boat leaves San Francisco on the sixth, and he can't even stop on his way across the country. But he said—""Yes?" Bunny encouraged."He wired to meet his train at Middletown on the third—that's to-day. It stops there twenty minutes. But the telegram just came, and we haven't any way of getting there. That's why Ma is all broke up. She won't see him for years more, mebbe.""Oh!" said Bunny. A queer, numb feeling seemed to be gripping him. "How far is Middletown?""Eighteen mile; nearer nineteen, mebbe.""And Belden?" Perhaps Mr. Jenkins could come back."Nine mile and a half.""When does that train get to Middletown?""Goin' on two o'clock, I think.""Oh!" said Bunny again. He looked at his watch:12:51. No, even if Mr. Jenkins were willing, it would be out of the question for him to come back to Laurel in time to take the old couple to Middletown. There was just one way out of the difficulty.The man's wistful eyes were staring again, looking straight through him, just as they had been when he answered Mr. Jenkins' knock. Bunny understood now what they were straining to see. It was another boy, this little man's boy, bound for a foreign country. And inside the house, striving bravely to stifle her sobs, was the mother.Bunny made up his own mind quickly enough. He knew what he wanted to do. But there were the other fellows to consider. They wouldn't agree to his plan; no, not in a thousand years. They had a right to—Behind him, he caught the murmur of a low question and answer. Then a voice called, "Oh, Bunny!""Yes?" He turned to the car. Save for Mr. Jenkins, it was quite empty. All the boys had climbed to the ground."Mr. Jenkins will take them to Middletown." It was Bi speaking. "He says he will be glad to do it. Tell her to hurry."Bunny's heart gave a glad leap. It wasn't wholly because of the sacrifice they were all making, although that counted, of course, but because of the way in which they had decided the matter, unanimously and without a single objection. He wondered if anywhere else in the world there were fellows like that!"All right," he said, fighting hard to keep the catch out of his voice. Then to the man in the doorway: "Mr. Jenkins will take you and your wife to Middletown, sir, so you can see your boy. Oh, no, we'll be glad to stretch our legs and walk a bit. That's nothing. Good-by, sir.""Good-by," said the little man. His eyes were shining now. He held out a trembling hand. "Good-by and God bless you!"And with this benediction ringing in their ears, the nine boys waved to Mr. Jenkins, who was fussing with something on the dash, and began the hike down the long hill toward the wooded valley at the bottom.

BORROWERS' LUCK

With something of an effort, Bunny wrenched his gaze from the back of the disappointing automobile and turned to Specs.

"No, not everybody," he said, striving hard to be cheerful. "There's the peddler, you know; he isn't busted any more—quite!"

"What peddler?" The farmer lifted an inquiring head.

Everybody squirmed uncomfortably. It was the code of the Black Eagle Patrol not to talk about the good turns it did, because that sounded like bragging. But the farmer was persistent. Bit by bit, with question and guess and prompting, he pieced out the story: how the boys had found the peddler on the road, with his second-hand wagon that had come to grief; how he had confessed he had no money for the necessary repairs; how the boys, because they were Scouts and it was their duty to do a good turn when they could, had given him their last cent and sped him on his way rejoicing. When the last scrap of confession had beendragged from them, the farmer held out his hand to Bunny.

"So you are the patrol leader, are you, Payton? Well, I am glad to know a boy like you. Jenkins is my name; Alfred Jenkins."

Gravely, Bunny introduced the other Scouts. "And this is young Prissler," he concluded. "He is training to be a tenderfoot, and just as soon as there is a vacancy in the patrol he will be taken in."

"So?" Mr. Jenkins nodded understandingly. He scratched at his beard. "I reckon," he added, "you get a lot of satisfaction doing good turns like that. By ginger, I'd like to have that feeling myself. If the old 'bus would only run—"

"What's the matter with it?" demanded the practical Specs.

Mr. Jenkins spread his hands helplessly. "I wish I knew. But I'm no mechanic. She's just dead; dead on her feet, you might say. Won't go. Won't even start."

"Gas line clogged, maybe."

"Loose connections."

"Carburetor float stuck."

"Magneto points burned off."

The farmer's eyes kindled before this volley of suggestions. "Say," he exclaimed, "do you boys know anything about a car?"

"A little," Bunny nodded. "Specs here is trying for a merit badge for automobiling, and we all got sortof interested in his studying. You have to know a good deal about a car to get that badge."

"Well, say!" Mr. Jenkins was as eager as a youngster. "Say, let's trundle her out here and look her over. You might find out what's wrong."

Because Specs had honestly devoted a great deal of his spare time to his ambition of qualifying for a merit badge in automobiling, Bunny put him in charge. It was no trick at all, of course, to release the brake and roll the car out of the homemade garage. Once in the open, Specs hopped into the front seat.

"No, that self-starter hasn't worked for a long time," Mr. Jenkins confessed, as the Scout pressed a tentative foot against it and cocked his ear expectantly for the hum of the motor. "Batteries dead, I 'spose. You'll have to crank her."

"All right, Bi!" called Specs; "you're the boy to wind her up."

Bi grimaced. He might need his good right arm for pitching that afternoon. But at a nod from Bunny, he sprang readily enough to the crank. Unless the car started, it looked like there wouldn't be any baseball game to play.

Balancing the crank once or twice against the compression, he lifted it suddenly and spun it with all his might. But no explosion signaled the success of his effort. Bi straightened up to catch his breath and wipe off the perspiration that was trickling down his face.

"Try her again," Specs ordered. "I'll work the spark when you get going."

Bi bent to his task for the second time. Round and round whirled the crank. But, as before, the motor refused to "catch."

"Prime her," suggested Bonfire.

Once more Bi cranked till he was ready to drop. In the meantime, Bonfire began prowling about and muttering to himself: "Tank full. Gas flows all right. Carburetor float not stuck. Must be the ignition." He tested with a long-bladed screwdriver. "Yep; no spark. Sure you've—Hello! Why, you muckle-headed McGrew, do you expect to get a merit badge for trying to start a motor without throwing on the switch?"

"What!" Bi threw himself on the ground and kicked feebly. "Do you mean to say I've been cranking my head off when you didn't even throw over the switch? Help!"

Specs grinned sheepishly. "I thought you needed the exercise," he said. "All right; she'll start now."

But she wouldn't. Bi cranked till he was red in the face, without the reward of even one feeble puff from the exhaust. With a last spin of the handle, for good measure, he stepped back disgustedly.

"If anybody else thinks he can twist her tail any better than that," he announced, "let him step up and try. I'm through; postilutely through."

By this time, even Specs was ready to admit thatthe motor was "busted." "It's the ignition," he explained. "As soon as we find out why she doesn't get a spark, we can fix her in a jiffy."

But discovering the nub of the trouble proved no easy job. The spark plugs were taken out; all connections were examined; each wire was traced to coil and magneto; the magneto itself came in for critical inspection. But no break or short circuit revealed itself. Already, the first glowing enthusiasm of the boys was blowing cold and dead.

Bonfire snapped the switch backward and forward. "Feels loose," he said. "Let me have that screwdriver, Specs." With deft hands, he removed the face of the switch-box. "Here's the little nigger in the woodpile, fellows!" he called exultingly. "See, those loose nuts allow the contact plate to drop down. The circuit is not completed even when you throw on the switch. No wonder she won't run!" He twirled the nuts with his fingers and clamped them tight with a wrench. "Now try her."

"Not me!" jeered Bi. "I've cranked her from here to Belden already. Let somebody else crank her home again." But even while he talked, he was walking toward the front of the car. Roundy reached for the swinging handle, only to be pushed aside by Bi. With scarcely an effort, the strongest Scout in the patrol turned her over again—and the motor sprang into life with a roar.

"Throttle her down!" Bi shouted to Specs. "Wakeup there! Don't let her race! If ever you win a merit badge for automobiling, I'll eat it for breakfast. Isn't he rotten, Mr. Jenkins?"

The farmer smiled. "Oh, he'll pass, I reckon. Now, let me see. Five of you on the back seat, two on the collapsible chairs—that's seven—and two of you on the front seat here with me. Wait just a minute till I get my coat and tell my wife I'm going, and we'll start."

"With any kind of luck at all," Bunny promised happily, looking at his watch, "we should be at the Belden ball park a little after one o'clock. It's 11:42 right now, and we have about thirty-seven miles to cover."

Specs held up his hand. "I've got my fingers crossed," he said. "Don't forget all the things that have happened to us so far to-day. Touch wood when you say that, Bunny."

But luck seemed at last to be roosting with the Black Eagle Patrol. Once out upon the main highway, the motor settled down to a contented purr, with never a miss or hint of trouble, and the big car rolled placidly toward Belden, piling the miles behind it quite as if it were shod with seven-league boots instead of rubber tires. Mr. Jenkins admitted that he was "no great shucks at driving", but he more than made up for any lack of technical skill by his careful and common-sense handling of wheel and accelerator. An hour before, Belden had seemed to the Scouts some far spot on therim of the world; now, as everybody felt, it lay just over the hill.

There is no denying that the boys enjoyed the ride. More than once, they had watched enviously as Royal Sheffield dashed into Lakeville with his trim roadster; more than once, too, if the truth be known, they had lingered hungrily as he backed it out of Grady's barn after school and made ready for the homeward trip. But Sheffield lived in Charlesboro, and his motoring was done largely in the roads about that village. True, the Sefton automobile never had a vacant seat when any boy could be found to fit it; but Mr. Sefton used the car for business, and it was also frequently out of town. This was different, too; this was a cross-country jaunt, over unfamiliar roads, mile upon mile, with every turn and rise revealing new wonders.

"Like it?" asked Mr. Jenkins, without turning his head.

There was no adequate way of expressing their gratitude and pleasure, but the farmer seemed well content with Specs' explosive, "You bet we do!" It was curious about Mr. Jenkins. He owned the car, and he must have ridden thousands of miles in it; yet he seemed to be getting just as much fun out of this trip as any of his guests. "Haven't felt so young in thirty years," he said once, with a chuckle, as he swung wide to avoid a bump.

On and on sang the car: uphill, biting on second speed; across a bit of tableland, feeling its oats onhigh; down a long incline, pulsing with such eagerness that it had to be restrained; through wood roads, bowered with cool, overhanging trees; into the bright sunshine again; past farmhouses, with barking dogs and waving people; over long stretches of concrete, that gave back never a jounce or jolt; through sleepy little villages, waking and nodding a single welcome and good-by in one; out into the country once more, between green fields of sprouting corn and wheat; and on and on, motor humming drowsily and rubber-tired wheels crisping their chorus. It was good just to be outdoors on such a day in June.

They climbed a long, winding hill. At the top was a little cottage, bordered by a trim lawn, which was splashed here and there with gay flower plots. In the background loomed a barn, more than twice the size of the house, with a silo at one side and a windmill just beyond. Mr. Jenkins squinted meditatively from the spout of his radiator, steaming a bit, to the windmill.

"Reckon we'd better stop for water," he announced.

A gray, bent wisp of a man answered his knock on the door and listened gravely to his request for the loan of a pail. He seemed to be looking, not at Mr. Jenkins, but through him, as if he were only vaguely aware of the other's presence. But he said, "Oh, yes," and brought the pail.

It took only a minute to fill the radiator. Mr. Jenkins began to screw on the cap, while the boys piledback into the car. Bunny picked up the pail and carried it to the house. As he lifted his hand to knock on the door, he heard something that made him hesitate.

Inside the house, a woman was crying softly, and a man's voice was soothing, over and over, "Now, Ma! Now, Ma! Don't take on so! It can't be helped! Now, Ma! Now, Ma!"

After a moment of indecision, Bunny rapped. The sobbing stopped. Footsteps approached the door, and presently it was opened, a little hesitatingly, by the man from whom Mr. Jenkins had borrowed the pail. Bunny extended it to him, with a word of thanks. He had meant to turn away at once, but something seemed to hold him.

"Is—is anything wrong there?" he asked, jerking his thumb toward the darkened room within.

"It's just Ma," the little man told him. He spoke meekly, almost apologetically, but his high-pitched voice carried clearly to the other boys. "She's all broke up over not seein' John."

"John?" Bunny put a question in the word; then, when it brought no reply, he added, at a hazard, "He's your son, sir?"

"Yes, John's our boy. He's a good boy, John is. But he's been away a long time, and now—"

"Is he coming home?"

The man raised his hand as if to ward off a blow. "No," he said in a wavering voice. "He's going away, mebbe for years; going away to China. He'san engineer, John is; works for a big construction company in New York City. This spring he wrote that he would come home to visit Ma and me. So we tidied up all about for him." The little man waved an expressive hand, and Bunny understood, all at once, why the grass was so neatly cropped, and why the flowers studded the lawn, and why the pathway to the door was made of clean, white pebbles. It had all been done for their son. "But to-day we got a telegram—delayed, they said over the 'phone. He can't come. He's ordered to China, right away, to help build a new railroad. His boat leaves San Francisco on the sixth, and he can't even stop on his way across the country. But he said—"

"Yes?" Bunny encouraged.

"He wired to meet his train at Middletown on the third—that's to-day. It stops there twenty minutes. But the telegram just came, and we haven't any way of getting there. That's why Ma is all broke up. She won't see him for years more, mebbe."

"Oh!" said Bunny. A queer, numb feeling seemed to be gripping him. "How far is Middletown?"

"Eighteen mile; nearer nineteen, mebbe."

"And Belden?" Perhaps Mr. Jenkins could come back.

"Nine mile and a half."

"When does that train get to Middletown?"

"Goin' on two o'clock, I think."

"Oh!" said Bunny again. He looked at his watch:12:51. No, even if Mr. Jenkins were willing, it would be out of the question for him to come back to Laurel in time to take the old couple to Middletown. There was just one way out of the difficulty.

The man's wistful eyes were staring again, looking straight through him, just as they had been when he answered Mr. Jenkins' knock. Bunny understood now what they were straining to see. It was another boy, this little man's boy, bound for a foreign country. And inside the house, striving bravely to stifle her sobs, was the mother.

Bunny made up his own mind quickly enough. He knew what he wanted to do. But there were the other fellows to consider. They wouldn't agree to his plan; no, not in a thousand years. They had a right to—

Behind him, he caught the murmur of a low question and answer. Then a voice called, "Oh, Bunny!"

"Yes?" He turned to the car. Save for Mr. Jenkins, it was quite empty. All the boys had climbed to the ground.

"Mr. Jenkins will take them to Middletown." It was Bi speaking. "He says he will be glad to do it. Tell her to hurry."

Bunny's heart gave a glad leap. It wasn't wholly because of the sacrifice they were all making, although that counted, of course, but because of the way in which they had decided the matter, unanimously and without a single objection. He wondered if anywhere else in the world there were fellows like that!

"All right," he said, fighting hard to keep the catch out of his voice. Then to the man in the doorway: "Mr. Jenkins will take you and your wife to Middletown, sir, so you can see your boy. Oh, no, we'll be glad to stretch our legs and walk a bit. That's nothing. Good-by, sir."

"Good-by," said the little man. His eyes were shining now. He held out a trembling hand. "Good-by and God bless you!"

And with this benediction ringing in their ears, the nine boys waved to Mr. Jenkins, who was fussing with something on the dash, and began the hike down the long hill toward the wooded valley at the bottom.

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