Dick & Co. had two more pleasant meetings with their high school friends before an about-face was made, and the return hike to Gridley started.
Their liveliest adventures were yet ahead of them.
"Did you ever see a blacker, more peculiar looking cloud coming than that one?" demanded Tom Reade, as the high school boys emerged from the gloom of a long, narrow forest road into comparatively open country.
"Is it a coming storm, or an optical delusion?" pondered Dick, halting and staring hard.
"It looks like pictures I've seen of water spouts," Greg declared.
"That's what it is," Dick replied quietly. "Though I've never seen one before, it's hard to be fooled, for that chap looks just like his published photographs. And look at that queer, brownish, half-yellowish sky back of it. It certainly looks forbidding."
"And we're going to have a stormy afternoon of it!" muttered Dave.
"The waterspout will go by to the north," Reade conjectured, studying the oddly-shaped, rapidly moving and twisting blackish cloud, "but we're going to be right in line with the main storm that is traveling with it."
"And we've got to prepare against the weather, too!" Dick cried, with sudden realization. "Fellows, the storm that is coming down on us isn't going to be any toy zephyr!"
After leaving Ashbury the boys had decided to return to Gridley by a different road.
"There's the place for us, if we can make it!" cried Dick an instant later, pointing toward the slope.
"Dave, whip up the horse. He has to travel fast for his own safety.Tom and Greg, you get behind and push the wagon up the slope.We'll all help in turn. But hustle!"
The crest of the rise of ground being made, the boys found themselves entering another forest. Dick here found the ground as favorable to his purpose as he had hoped it would be, for on the further side the land sloped downward again, and was well-wooded.
"Drive in there!" called Prescott, pointing, then ran ahead to find the best spot for pitching the tent.
"Whoa!" yelled Prescott, when he had reached the spot that he judged would do best for camp purposes. "Now, Dave, go over to the other side of the horse! Help me to get him out of the shafts. The poor animal must be our first consideration, for he can't help himself. The rest of you unload all the stuff from the wagon as fast as you can move."
Slipping the harness from the horse, Dick fastened a halter securely, then ran the horse down into a little gully where the animal would be best protected from the force of the wind that would come with the storm.
Driving a long iron stake into the ground, Dick tethered the animal securely. Then he ran back to help his chums.
"Here's the best site for the tent," Prescott called, snatching up a stick and marking the site roughly. "Now, hustle! No; don't use the wooden stakes for the tent ropes. Drive the long iron stakes, and drive them deep!"
Then Prescott ran back with oats and corn for the horse, leaving a generous feed for the animal.
"You'll need plenty to eat, old fellow, for the storm is going to be a long and cold one."
Then Prescott ran back at full speed to his chums who were erecting the tent.
First, the four corner stakes were driven, and the guy-ropes made fast.
"Greg and Dan can drive all the other pins, if they hustle," Dick announced. "Tom, you and Dave get the floor planks down, and rig up the stove—-inside the tent."
"There won't be time to lay the flooring," Reade objected, taking a hurried squint at the now more threatening sky.
"There's got to be time to lay the flooring, unless you all want to sleep in water to-night," Dick insisted. "Harry, just break your back with the loads of wood that you bring in. I'll fill all the buckets with water."
In ten minutes more everything had been carried inside the tent.Big drops of rain were beginning to patter down.
"We've everything ready just in time to the minute," Tom Reade observed with a satisfied chuckle.
"Not everything quite ready," Prescott retorted. "Tom, if you're going to grow up to be an engineer there's one thing more you should see the need of."
"What?" challenged Reade blankly.
"Get the pick and shovel! You and I will do it. Let the rest get in under shelter!"
Standing in the rain, Tom and Dick hastily dug two ditches at either end of the tent. These ditches were no creditable engineering jobs, but they would, at need, carry a good deal of water down the slope.
By this time the rain was falling heavily. In the distance heavy thunder volleyed, and the sky was growing blacker every minute.
"One more job," called Dick. "Dave and Greg, tumble out with the shelter flap!"
This was a great sheet of canvas that had to be fastened in place over the tent roof, and at a different pitch.
"We'll be drowned before we get the shelter flap in place," grumbledTom.
"And we might as well be out in the rain, if we don't have it up," Dick retorted. "Open her up! Now, then—-up with it!"
The shelter flap was placed with difficulty, for now the wind was driving across the country, blowing everything before it. The other two boys leaped out to help their chums. The shelter flap was made secure at last, the ropes being made fast to the surrounding trees.
By this time the wind was blowing at the rate of fifty miles an hour. The sky was nearly as black as on a dark night, while the rain was coming down "like another Niagara," as Harry Hazelton put it.
"We don't care whether we have a dry tent or not, now," laughed Dan Dalzell, as the six boys made a break for cover. "We're soaking, anyway, and a little more water won't hurt."
"I'll get a fire going in the stove," Dick smiled. "Soon after that we'll be dry enough—-if the tent holds."
The stove was already in place, a sheet-iron pipe running up one of the tent walls and out through a circular opening in the canvas of the side wall opposite from the wind.
While Dick was making the fire, Tom Reade filled, trimmed and lighted the two lanterns.
"Listen to the storm!" chuckled Prescott. "But we're comfy and cheery enough. Now, peel off your outer clothes and spread them on the campstools to dry by the fire. We'll soon be feeling as cheery as though we were traveling in a Pullman car."
Within a short time all six were dry and happy. The lightning had come closer and closer, until now it flashed directly overhead, followed by heavy explosions of thunder.
Not one of the boys could remember a time when it had ever rained as hard before. It seemed to them as though solid sheets of water were coming down. Yet the position of the tent, aided by the ditches, kept their floor dry. Dan, peering out through the canvas doorway, reported that the ditches were running water at full capacity.
"This will all be over in an hour," hazarded Greg.
"It may, and it may not be," Dick rejoined. "My own guess is that the storm will last for hours."
As the howling wind gained in intensity it seemed as though the tent must be blown to ribbons, but stout canvas will stand considerable weather strain.
"If we had driven the wooden pins for the guy-ropes," mutteredGreg, "everyone of them would have been washed loose by this time."
"They would have been," Dick assented, "and the tent would now be down upon our heads, a drenched wreck. As it is, I think we can pull through a night of bad weather."
In an hour the flashes of lightning had become less frequent. The wind had abated slightly, but there was no cessation of the downpour.
"I pity anyone who has to travel the highway in this storm," mutteredDave. "This isn't weather for human beings."
"Yet every bird of the air has to weather it," observed Hazelton.
"Yes," muttered Tom, "and a good many of the birds of the air will be killed in this storm, too."
Night came down early. The wind and rain had sent the temperature down until it seemed to the high school boys more like an October night. The warmth and light in the tent were highly gratifying to all.
"As long as the tent holds I can't think of a blessed thing we have to go outside for," sighed Reade contentedly.
"We don't have to," laughed Dick. "Fellows, we're away off in the wilderness, but we're as happy as we could be in a palace. How about supper?"
That idea was approved instantly.
"We'll have two suppers to-night," proposed Tom. "That will be the visible proof and expression of the highest happiness that can be reached on a night like this."
Even by ten o'clock that night there was no abatement in the volume of rain falling. The wind still howled.
"Are we going to turn in, soon?" inquired Dave.
"My vote," announced Tom indolently, "is for another supper, and turn in at perhaps two o'clock in the morning."
"I second the motion—-as far as another supper goes," chimed in Danny Grin.
"It wants to be a supper of piping hot stuff, too," declared Greg. "It's warm here in the tent, but the surrounding world is chill and drear. Nothing but hot food will serve us."
Preparations for the meal were quickly under way.
"I hope everyone within the reach of this storm is as comfortable as we are," murmured Hazelton.
"Why, we're so happy, we could entertain company with a relish," laughed Reade.
"Say, what was that?" demanded Greg.
From outside came a faint sound as of someone stealthily groping about outside in the storm.
"Bring a lantern, quickly!" called Dick, going toward the tent door.
As Greg played the rays of light against the darkness outside, Dick suddenly sprang forth into the dark. Then he returned, bearing in his arms the pitiful little figure of old Reuben Hinman, the peddler.
"Look at his head!" gasped Reade, in horror, as Prescott entered with the burden.
From a gash over the peddler's left temple blood was flowing, leaving its dark trail over the peddler's light brown coat.
Dick carried the stricken old man straight to his own cot, laying him there gently.
"Who can have done this deed?" gasped Greg, throbbing with sympathy for the poor old man.
Outside other approaching steps sounded. Dave and Tom, snatching up sticks of firewood, sprang forward.
Greg flashed the lantern on four hulking, bedraggled ragged men.
"Hello! It's the same kids!" cried a hoarse voice out in the storm. "They'll be glad to see us."
"You keep out of here!" ordered Reade, thrusting his stick at the face of the first tramp—-the boss tramp—-who tried to enter.
"No!" countermanded Dick Prescott. "Let even the hoboes come in. Let anyone come in on a night like this."
"Now, that's decent of you," admitted the boss tramp, as he sloshed heavily in, followed by three companions. Two of these tramps had been with the "boss" on another well remembered occasion. The third was a stranger to Dick & Co.
"My, but you've got a real house in here a true port in a storm," observed the boss tramp, as he halted to stare about him. "Friends, this is the best thing we've seen today."
"It is," agreed the other tramps solemnly.
The glance of the newcomers did not rest upon the face of Reuben Hinman, for Prescott had gently spread a blanket so that it effectually concealed the little old peddler.
"What have you men been doing?" asked Dick, straightening up and eyeing them coldly, steadily.
"Drowning in the woods," replied the boss, "for we knew we couldn't find a house or barn within two miles, and the road is like a river you need a boat for travel to-night. When the storm came we men made a brush lean-to and kept as dry as we could under it. But it got worse and worse. But at last we caught sight of your light shining through the trees. So we headed for it. We hoped you'd have a stove with a fire in it, and you have—-so we're all right, and much obliged."
"Keep back there a bit," ordered Dick, so firmly that the tramps obeyed. "Dave, help me to lift this cot over within a few feet of the stove. Be as gentle as you can."
Four tramps looked on in solemn curiosity as they saw Darrin and Prescott lift a cot on which lay something completely covered by a blanket.
Then Dick turned down the blanket, revealing the bruised, bleeding head of Reuben Hinman.
"What do you men know about this?" Prescott demanded, eyeing them compellingly.
But the tramps' look was one of such astonished innocence that Prescott began to wonder whether he had wrongly suspected these knights of the highway.
"Why did you do—-this?" Prescott sternly insisted.
"We—-we didn't do it!" exclaimed the boss tramp fervently. "We didn't even know that this old party was anywhere out in the storm. We——-"
Moaning, Reuben Hinman stirred slightly then opened his eyes dreamily.
"Mr. Hinman, can you talk?" asked Dick gently.
"Ye-es," faintly admitted the peddler.
"Then how were you hurt, sir?" Dick pressed in the same gentle voice.
"I—-I saw the light. Tried—-to drive my horse—-in. Wagon turned over. Fell off—-and hurt my head," replied the peddler, whispering hoarsely.
"You're fully conscious, Mr. Hinman, and know just what you're saying?" Dick pressed.
"Yes, Prescott. I know."
"Then no one else assaulted you to-night, sir."
"No—-one."
"I feel like saying 'thank heaven' for that!" exclaimed Dick in a quiet voice, as he straightened up, his eyes a trifle misty. "I hate to think that the earth holds men vile enough to strike down a weak old man like this!"
"And on such a night," added Tom Reade.
"Oh, we're pretty bad," said the boss tramp, huskily, "but we didn't do anything like that."
"At first," Dick went on, "I thought you hoboes had done the deed. That was why I asked my friend to let you come in. I wanted to keep you here until we could find someone who would take care of you."
"We didn't do it," replied the boss tramp, "and the old man says we didn't."
"No; no man struck me—-I fell," chimed in the peddler weakly.
"We'll help you take care of the old man," offered the boss tramp.
"If you mean what you say," Prescott proposed, "then take one of these lanterns and go down by the road to see what you can find out about Mr. Hinman's horse and wagon. Or did you see them as you came up?"
"No, for we came through the woods," replied the boss tramp."I'll take the lantern. Come with me, Joe."
Out into the dark plunged the two tramps, to face the heavily falling rain. For once, at any rate, they were doing something useful.
At a signal from Dick, Greg put some water on the stove to heat. Prescott found some clean cloth in their wardrobe box and bathed the wound on Mr. Hinman's temple, then washed his entire face. The wound proved to be broad, rather than deep, and was such as might have been caused by falling on sharp pebbles. Then Dick bound up the wound.
Next, Dick and Greg undressed Mr. Hinman and rubbed him down, then rolled him in dry blankets and laid him on another cot not far from the stove.
"Come out, you other hoboes," called the boss tramp's voice. "Come and help us right the peddler's wagon and bring that and the horse up here."
The other two tramps went reluctantly out into the storm.
A bottle full of hot water, wrapped in a towel, was placed at the peddler's feet.
In the meantime the tramps got the wagon into a sheltered position, then staked the horse out close to the place where the Gridley horse was tethered. This having been accomplished, they came back to the camp, to find a new aroma on the air.
"That stuff smells good. What is it?" asked the boss tramp.
"Ginger tea. We've made some to give to Mr. Hinman."
"Will you give us some, too?" asked the tramp. "We're all of us chilled and hoarse."
"I will," Dick nodded, "if you men will undertake to fill the buckets before you try to dry yourselves. Otherwise, we shall run out of water."
Grunting, the boss tramp and one of his companions listened while Dick directed them where to find running water. Out again into the storm they lurched, and soon had all the water buckets filled and in the tent.
While the tramps dried their clothing, Prescott kept his word about making ginger tea.
"This seems like the best stuff I've had since I was a baby," remarked the boss tramp, in a somewhat grateful voice.
"Maybe that's because you've worked for it," suggested Reade thoughtfully.
"I wonder," grunted the hobo. "I wonder."
Later on Dick and his chums prepared a supper, of which all partook except the peddler, who needed sleep and warmth more.
The tramps slept on the floor, later on. Tom, Dave and Harry slept on their cots, while the other three high school boys remained awake.
Toward two o'clock in the morning Dick found Reuben Hinman's skin becoming decidedly feverish, and began to administer nitre.
"I'd mount our horse, and try to ride for a doctor, if I thoughtI could get one," murmured Greg.
"You couldn't get one here to-night," volunteered the boss tramp, who had awakened and had risen on one elbow. "Neither an automobile nor a buggy could be driven over this wild road to-night. The water is three feet deep in spots—-worse in some others."
Though the deluge outside still continued, all would have been cheery inside had it not been for the alarm Dick & Co. felt over the increasing fever of the poor old peddler. His breathing became more and more labored.
Dave awoke and came over to listen and look on.
"I'll try to go for a doctor," he whispered.
"You might even reach one," Dick replied. "I'd be willing to try myself, but we couldn't get a physician through on a night like this."
"At least I'll go down and have a look at the road," muttered Reade, rising, wrapping himself up as best he could, and taking a lantern.
Tom presently returned, looking like a drowned rat.
"It's no go," he announced gloomily. "The road is a river."
"Sure it is," muttered the boss tramp, "or—-as you lads have been so decent to me—-I'd go myself and try to find a doctor."
Toward daylight the rain ceased. Dawn came in heavy and misty, but after an hour the sun shone forth, dispelling the low-lying clouds.
Dick was sound asleep at this time, Tom and Harry having relieved the other watchers. All of the tramps lay stretched on the hard wooden floor, since none of the high school boys cared to have one of these fellows lying on his cot even when it was not in use.
"Go down and take a look at the road, Hazy," Tom desired, after the sun had been out for an hour.
"The water's running out of the road, or drying off, pretty fast" Hazelton reported on his return. "Still, a doctor would have a hard job getting over the road as yet."
"Did you see anyone trying to get over the road with a vehicle?"Reade inquired.
"Not a soul or a wheel," Harry answered. "As far as travel goes the road might as well be a strip of the Sahara Desert."
Reuben Hinman's breathing was so labored that it disturbed the watchers a good deal.
"We're doing all we can for you, and we'll get better care for you, just as soon as we can," Tom explained, resting a hand on the fever-flushed face.
"I know," wheezed the old man painfully. "Good boy!"
By eight o'clock all hands were astir.
"Are we going to get any breakfast to-day?" asked the tramp known as Joe.
"Yes," nodded Dick, choking back the temptation to say something caustic.
By nine o'clock the meal had been eaten. The stove now made the tent so hot that Mr. Hinman's cot had to be moved to the farther end and the tent flaps thrown open to admit cooler air.
Greg had attended to feeding both of the horses, which had gotten through the dismal night without very much discomfort.
Now Dick went down to look at the road.
"I'm going to mount our horse, bareback, and keep straight on up the road," he announced, coming back. "I will not have to go very far before I find a physician."
"No, you're not going, either," broke in the boss tramp. "I am going."
"But, see here, I can't very well let a stranger like you go off with our horse," Dick objected smilingly.
"You don't have to," retorted the other. "I'll go on foot, and I'll make the trip as fast as I can, too. But maybe you'd better give me a note to the doctor. He might not pay much attention to a sick call from a fellow who looks as tough as I do."
"If I let you go, can I depend upon you to keep right on going straight and fast, until you deliver a note to a doctor?" asked Prescott, eyeing the boss tramp keenly.
"Yes!" answered the tramp, returning the glance with one so straightforward that Dick felt he could really trust the man. "And if the first doctor won't or can't come, I'll keep on going until I find one who will take the call."
"Good for you!" cried Tom Reade heartily. "And if it weren't for fear of startling you, I'd say that the next thing you'll be doing will be to find and accept a job, and work again like a useful man!"
"That would be startling," grinned the fellow, half sullenly.
Dick wrote the note. Away went his ill-favored looking messenger.Dick turned to administer more nitre to the peddler.
"Do you expect to move on at all to-day?" Dave asked of Dick.
"It wouldn't be really wise, would it?" Dick counter-queried. "Our tent and shelter flap are pretty wet to take down and fold away in a wagon. We'd find it wet going, too. Hadn't we better stay here until to-morrow, and then break camp with our tent properly dry?"
All hands voted in favor of remaining—-except the hoboes, who weren't asked. They would remain indefinitely, anyway, if permitted, and if the food held out.
But Dick soon set them to work. One was despatched for water, the other two set to gathering wet firewood and spreading it in the sun to dry out. Nor did the trio of remaining tramps refuse to do the work required of them, though they looked reluctant enough at first.
Two more hours passed.
"I'm afraid our friend, Hustling Weary, is having a hard time to get a doctor who'll come down the road," Dick remarked to Darrin.
"Oh, the doctor will come, if Weary has found him," Dave replied."Doctors always come. They have to, or lose their reputations."
Half an hour later a business-like honk! was heard. Then, through the trees Dick & Co. saw an automobile halt down at the side of the road. A tall, stout man, who looked to be about sixty-five years old, but who displayed the strength and speed of a young man, leaped from the car, followed by the tramp messenger.
"Mr. Prescott?" called the big stranger.
"Yes, sir," bowed Dick.
"Dr. Hewitt. Let me see your patient."
For some minutes the physician bent over the peddler, examining and questioning the old man, who answered with effort.
"I must get Hinman to a hospital some miles from here," the physician explained, aside, to Dick. "The poor old man is going to have pneumonia, and he'd die without hospital care. Probably he'll die, anyway. I'll give him a hypodermic injection in the arm, then wait for him to become quiet. After that we'll move him to the tonneau of my car and I'll take him to the hospital. I telephoned Hinman's son, over at Fenton, telling him where his father and his wagon are. The son ought to come over and take charge of the outfit."
It was three quarters of an hour later when Dr. Hewitt examined his patient, then remarked:
"He can be moved now, as well as at any time."
"There's someone coming," announced Reade, as the sound of a horse's hoofs were heard. Tom went out to look at the new arrival.
A man of forty, rather flashily dressed, though somewhat mud-spattered, rode up on a horse that looked much the worse for being abroad on the bad roads.
"I understand that Mr. Hinman is here, ill," began the stranger.
"He is," Tom nodded. "Have you any interest in him?"
"Mr. Hinman is my father."
"Come right in," Tom invited, throwing open the flap of the tent.
"Hold my horse, will you?"
Something in the younger Hinman's way of making the request causedReade's backbone to stiffen.
"I see that you have a piece of halter rope," Tom replied. "You may tie your horse to any one of the trees. They don't belong to me."
The son frowned, but led his mount to a tree, hitching it there.Then he turned and entered the tent.
"How are you, father?" asked the younger Hinman, crossing to the cot and bending over the old man.
"Better, already, I think," replied Reuben Hinman feebly.
"I should hope so," replied Timothy Hinman, looking more than a trifle annoyed. "You had no business to be out in that storm."
"I couldn't help——-" began the old man slowly, but Dr. Hewitt broke in almost fiercely:
"Your father is in no condition to talk, Mr. Hinman. I telephoned you so that you might come over and take charge of the horse and wagon. There is quite a bit of stock on the wagon, too, I believe."
"My father must have considerable money with him," the young man hinted.
"He has some," Dick replied. "I do not know how much."
"I will take charge of his money for him," offered young Hinman.
"You will do nothing of the sort," broke in Dr. Hewitt, scowling. "Hinman, your father will be some time at the hospital, and he will want to be able to pay his bills there. He will also want to be able to purchase some comforts for himself while convalescing. So your father will take his money with him to the hospital."
"He can turn it over to me, if he has a mind to do so," insisted the younger man.
"You get out of here!" ordered the doctor, speaking decisively, though in a low tone. At the same time he pointed to the doorway of the tent. Just then the doctor looked as though he might rather enjoy the opportunity of throwing young Hinman out into the open air. The peddler's son walked outside of the tent with an air of offended dignity.
"Now, will four of you young men take hold of that cot, gently, and carry it out to my car?" asked Dr. Hewitt.
Dick, Dave, Tom and Greg served as the litter bearers. Then, under Dr. Hewitt's instructions, they lifted the old man into the tonneau of the car as though he had been an infant. The boss tramp had already taken his place in the tonneau of the machine. After blankets brought by the physician had been wrapped about the peddler the tramp contrived to rest the old man against his own broad shoulder.
"Good-bye, father," said the younger Hinman, who had looked on with a frown on his face. "I hope you'll be all right soon."
Reuben Hinman tried to smile. He also moved as though trying to stretch out a hand to his son, but the folds of the blankets prevented.
Dr. Hewitt went back to the tent to get his medicine case, which he had intentionally left behind. As he went he signed to Dick & Co. to accompany him.
"You young men haven't done anything for the old man for which I am going to commend you," said the physician bluntly. "You've simply done what any upright, humane, decent people would have done for a stricken old man, and you've done it well. But by contrast you noticed the younger Hinman's conduct. He is not worried that his father is ill, but hopes that the old man will soon be back at his work. Of course, he hopes that his father will be at work, soon; for when the old man stops working the younger man will very likely have to go to work himself."
"You don't mean, doctor, that that big, healthy-looking fellow is supported by his father?" gasped Dick Prescott.
"That's just what I mean," nodded the man of medicine.
"Why, I didn't suppose that old Mr. Hinman earned much."
"In the tin-peddler's business it's nearly all profit except the wear and tear on horse and wagon," smiled the physician. "One who isn't fitted for that line of work would starve to death at it, but Reuben Hinman has always been a shrewd, keen dealer in his own line of work. Strange as it may seem, Reuben is believed to make more than three hundred dollars a month. He gives it all to that son and two daughters. He wanted to bring his children up to be ladies and gentlemen—-and they are! They are all three of them too shiftless to do any work. They take the old man's money, but they won't live with him. They are too busy in 'society' to bother with the old man. On what he is able to turn over to his children every month they keep a rather pretentious home in Fenton, though they live a full mile away from their father. They never go near him, except for more money. If they meet him on his wagon, or when he is walking in his old clothes, they refuse to recognize him. Yet, though Reuben Hinman isn't a fool in anything else, he is very proud of the fact that his son is a 'gentleman,' and that his daughters are 'ladies.' Now, in a nutshell, you know the tragedy of the old man's life. Young Tim Hinman would, if he could, take the old man's money away from him at once and let him go to the hospital as a charity patient."
"Humph!" muttered Dick, and then was silent.
Timothy Hinman, when Dr. Hewitt and the boys stepped outside the tent, was inspecting the dingy old red wagon with a look of contempt on his face.
"What am I going to do with this crazy old rattle-trap?" inquired young Hinman plaintively. "Would one of you boys accept a dollar to drive this over to Fenton, and put the horse up in my father's barn? The trip can be made in two days of good driving."
Dick Prescott shook his head in order that he might avoid speaking.
"I came by train, within five miles of here, then hired a horse and rode over here," the younger Hinman went on. "So I've got to take the horse back to where I got it, and then return by train. So I'll pay a dollar and a half to the boy who will drive this rig back to Fenton."
This time there was no response to the magnificent offer.
"See here," muttered young Hinman half savagely, "it's more than the job is worth, but I'll pay two dollars to have this rig driven home. Will you take the job?"
He looked directly at Dick Prescott, who replied bluntly:
"Thank you; I won't."
"But what on earth am I going to do with the horse and wagon, then?" demanded Timothy Hinman, as though he found Prescott's refusal preposterous.
"I would suggest," offered Dick coolly, "that you drive your father's rig home yourself."
"I drive it?" gasped the son.
"Certainly."
"But it's no job for a gentleman!" protested the younger Mr. Hinman, looking very much aghast.
"Then I don't know whether or not the owner of these woods would consent to your leaving your father's property here," replied Prescott, as he turned on his heel.
Dr. Hewitt had watched the scene with a good deal of amusement. Now the physician turned to see whether his patient were as comfortable as possible.
"My man," said the doctor, to the boss tramp, "you hold my patient as comfortably and skillfully as though you had once been a nurse. Were you ever one?"
"No, sir," replied the tramp. "It just comes natural."
"I've been looking for a man to work for me," continued Dr. Hewitt, regarding the tramp with calculating eyes. "I believe that you've got in you the making of a real man if you'd only stop being a tramp. How would you like to try it out?"
"I dunno," replied the boss tramp, looking a bit staggered.
"If you go to work for me, I don't want you to take it up as a casual experiment," went on the man of medicine. "I haven't any time for experiments. But, if you'll declare positively that you're going to make a useful man of yourself, and that you'll live up to what I expect of you, I'll take you on. I won't have an idler about my place, and I won't tolerate any use of alcohol. If you shirk or drink—-even once out you go. But I'll start you at ten dollars a month and board, and raise you—-if I keep you—-two dollars a month until you're getting thirty dollars a month and board as a steady thing. Are you man enough to take me up, and to make it worth my while to take you on?"
"Yes," replied the boss tramp huskily, after a struggle with himself.
"All right, then, we'll see how much a man you are. By the way, what's your name?"
"Jim Joggers," replied the tramp.
Dr. Hewitt eyed the fellow keenly for a few seconds, before he replied, with a slight smile:
"All right; we'll let it go at Joggers until you've put yourself far enough forward so that you'll be willing to use your own name."
Honk! honk! The car was under way.
When Dick and his three friends turned back to the tent they found all three of the remaining tramps in there, smoking vile pipes and playing with a greasy, battered pack of cards. "The weather's fine again," announced Dick, "and you'll find us the most hospitable fellows you ever met. My friends, we take pleasure in offering you the whole outside world in which to play!"
"Talk United States!" growled one of the tramps, without looking up from the game.
"Tom," laughed Prescott, turning to Reade, "strange dialects are your specialty. Kindly translate, into 'United States,' what I have just said to these men."
"I will," agreed Tom. "Attention, hoboes! Look right at me!That's right. Now—-git!"
"You might let us stay on a bit longer," grumbled one of the tramps."We ain't bothering you folks any."
"Only eating us out of house and home," snapped Dave.
"And delaying the time when we must wash up the tent after you," added Danny Grin.
But the tramps played on, smoked on.
"Did you fellows ever hear of that famous man, Mr. A. Quick Expediter?"Tom asked the tramps.
"No," growled one of them.
"Expediter was a truly great man," Tom continued. "He had a motto.It was a short one. One word, and that word was—-'git'!"
"We are famed for our courtesy," remarked Darry. "We'd hate to lose even a shred of our reputation in that line. But in these present years of our young lives we are football players by training, and high school boys merely for pleasure. We know some of the dandiest tackles you ever saw. Shall we show you a few of them? If you object to observing our tackles—-and sharing in the effects—-then signify your wishes by placing yourselves at a safe distance from such enthusiastic football wranglers as we are."
Greg, Danny Grin and Harry were already crouching as though for a spring. Dave took his place in an imaginary football line-up, leaning slightly forward. Tom Reade sighed, then advanced to the line. All were waiting for the battle signal from Dick Prescott.
By this time the most talkative of the three tramps noted the signs of a gathering squall.
"Come on, mates," he urged, with a sulky growl, "let's get out of here. These young fellows want their place all to themselves. They're just like all of the capitalistic class that are ruining the country to-day! Things in this country are coming to a pass where there's nothing for the fellow who——-"
"Who won't work hard enough to get the place in the world that he wants," Tom Reade finished for the tramp, as he ushered the three of them through the doorway.
That day of enforced tie-up was followed by three days of hard hiking. The Gridley High School boys showed the fine effects of their two vigorous, strenuous outings. Each had taken on weight slightly, though there was no superfluous flesh on any of the six. They were bronzed, comparatively lean-looking, trim and hard. Their muscles were at the finest degree of excellence.
"We set out to get ourselves as hard as nails," remarked Dave, as the boys bathed in a secluded bit of woodland through which a creek flowed. It was, the morning of their fourth day of renewed hiking. After the swim and breakfast that was to follow, there were twenty miles of rural roads to be covered before the evening camp was pitched.
"I guess we've won all we set out to get, haven't we?" inquired Reade, squaring his broad shoulders with an air of pride. "I feel equal to anything that a fellow of my size and years could do."
"I think, without boasting, we may consider ourselves the six most valuable candidates for Gridley High School football this year," Prescott declared. "We ought to be the best men for the team; we've worked hard to get ourselves in the pink of physical condition."
"I wouldn't care to be any stronger than I am," laughed Danny Grin. "If I were any stronger folks would be saying that I ought to go to work."
"You will have to go to work within another year," Dick laughed, "whatever that work may be. But you must work with your brain, Danny boy, if you're to get any real place in life. Your muscles are intended only as a sign that your body is going to be equal to all the demands that your brain may make on that body."
"If my mental ability were equal to my physical strength I wouldn't have to work at all," grinned Dalzell.
Splash! His dive carried him under the surface of the water.Presently he came up, blowing, then swimming with strong strokes.
"Danny boy seems to have the same idea so many people have," laughed Prescott. "They think that a man who does all his real work with his brain isn't working at all, just because he doesn't get into a perspiration and wilt his collar."
Splash! splash! Reade and Darrin were in the water racing upstream.
"I don't know when I've ever found so much happiness in a summer," asserted Greg, as he poised himself for a dive into the water.
"I wonder if Timmy Hinman ever had the nerve to stick to his father's wagon long enough to get it back to Fenton," said Dave, as he swam beside Reade.
"If he ever took that wagon home, I'll wager that he drove the last few miles late at night, so that his 'society' friends wouldn't have the shock of seeing him drive the peddling outfit that sustains him," Reade replied.
"I'll never forget the younger Hinman's disgusted look when he tried to drive the outfit from our camp, the other morning, with his saddle mount tied behind and balking on the halter," grinned Darry.
"I wonder why such fellows as Timothy Hinman were ever created,"Tom went on. "Every time I think about the gentlemanly TimmyI feel as though I wanted to kick something."
Only the day before, stopping at a postoffice on the route, as had been arranged with Dr. Hewitt, Dick & Co. had received word that the peddler was seriously ill with pneumonia, with all the chances against his recovery.
"If the peddler should die," suggested Dave soberly, "do you believe that Timmy Hinman will be able to face the thought of going to work for a living?"
"It would be an awful fate," Tom declared grimly. "Timmy might try to work, but I don't know whether he would be able to live through the shock and shame of having to earn the money for paying his own bills in life."
"There's that irrepressible Dick again!" called Greg five minutes later.
"What's he up to now?" asked Tom, from further up the creek.
"He has had his rub-down, got his clothing on and is now at work frying bacon and eggs."
"Then don't disturb him," begged Reade, "or he might fry short of the quantity of food that is really going to be required."
Five minutes more, however, saw the last of the boys out of water and rapidly getting themselves in shape to perform their own required duties. There could be no idlers in the party when Dick & Co. were away from home on a hike.
Yet, once breakfast had been disposed of, and the dishes washed, there seemed something in the August air that made them all disinclined to break camp and move on.
"I wish we could stay here all day, and move on to-morrow," murmuredHazy, thus voicing the thought of some of the others.
"And then blame the tramps for loafing!" exclaimed Dick.
"Do we look as though we had loafed this summer?" challenged Dalzell.
"No; but one or two of you would have done a good deal of it if you hadn't been afraid of the contempt of the others," smiled Prescott.
"Honestly, now," demanded Hazy, "wouldn't you enjoy just staying here and lounging today, Dick Prescott?"
"I would," Dick assented.
"There, now!"
"But that isn't what we left home to do, so we won't do it."
"Eh?" queried Hazy.
"Attention, Lazybones Squad!" called Prescott, springing up. "Hazy, harness the horse and hitch him to the wagon. Tom, Dave and Greg, take down the tent. I'll pack the bedding. Dan, load the kitchen stuff on the wagon."
This occupied a few minutes.
"Now, all hands turn to and load on the floor planks, bedding and the tent," called Dick.
This, too, was quickly accomplished, though all six were now perspiring.
"Greg, I believe it's your turn to drive first to-day," Prescott announced. "Up with you! Forward—-march!"
Dick led the way out of camp, at a brisk four-mile-an-hour stride. The long hike was started, at last. After that there was no grumbling, even during the hourly halt of ten minutes.
The noon halt found them with eleven and a half miles covered out of the twenty. Five o'clock brought Dick & Co. to the outskirts of Fenton, a town of some twenty-five hundred inhabitants.
"Whoa!" called Tom, reining up half a mile from the town. "There are woods here, Dick. If we go any closer to Fenton, we'll either have to keep on traveling to the other side of the town, or ask the authorities for permission to camp on the common. Don't you believe we had better stop here?"
"These are the woods that Dave and I had just picked out," Prescott replied. "We were going to keep on traveling until we found out who owns the woods. This isn't quite in the wilderness, Tom, and we must begin again to seek permission to make our camp from owners of property."
"If these are the woods," grunted Tom, "there can be no use in going farther. You and Dave trot on ahead, and bring us back word."
"All right," sang out the young leader, "but don't drive onto the ground, or unpack, until we are back with word about the owner's permission."
Three minutes of walking brought them to a farmhouse that looked like the abode of prosperous people.
"Well, what is it?" demanded a stout man, with a good-humored face, as he stepped out from a barn.
"We wish to know, sir," Dick explained, "if you can tell us who owns the woods about a quarter of a mile back, at the right hand side of the road?"
"I think I can," nodded the man. "Will you describe the woods a little more particularly?"
As Prescott complied the farmer broke in:
"Those are my woods, all right. What do you want of them?"
Dick explained the desire of himself and his friends to camp there for the night.
"Who are you boys?" asked the farmer, keenly eyeing Dick and Dave.
"Gridley High School boys, out on a vacation jaunt."
"You won't do any damage to my woods, will you?"
"Certainly not, sir," Dick promised.
"Then go right ahead and pitch your camp, young man. Enjoy yourselves."
"We shall have to gather and use quite a bit of firewood, sir,"Prescott continued.
"Well, there's considerable dead wood lying about there."
"May we pay you a proper price for the use of the firewood, sir?"Prescott went on.
"If you try to," laughed the farmer, "I'll chase you out of the woods. Make yourselves at home, boys. Have as good a time as you can."
"Thank you, sir."
"And—-have you had any fresh milk lately?"
"Not a lot of it, sir."
"Would you like some?"
"Why, if we may pay——-"
"You may pay me," promptly agreed the farmer, "by bringing the pail back when you pass this way in the morning."
With that remark he went into another building, soon coming out with an eight-quart pail filled with milk.
"This sort of stuff isn't much good, except when you haven't had any for a long time," laughed the farmer. "Enjoy yourselves. Say, you don't play football with the Gridley High School eleven, do you?"
"All of us do," Dick admitted.
"Thought so," chuckled the farmer. "That's why I was interested in you. I saw the Thanksgiving game at Gridley last year. Great game nervy lot of boys, with all their sand about them. There was one fellow in particular, I remember, who broke doctor's orders and jumped into the game at the last minute. He saved the game for Gridley, I heard. I'd like to shake hands with him."
"Then here's your chance, sir," laughed Dave, shoving Dick forward."Mr. Dick Prescott, Gridley High School."
"My name's Dobbins," smiled the farmer, extending his hand. "Glad to meet you, Prescott. I thought it was you all the time. Mebbe the young man with you is Darrin."
"Yes," laughed Dick, and there was more handshaking.
"I hope I'll see the rest of your friends when you pass in the morning," said the farmer cordially.
"Hiram—-supper!" called a shrill voice from The doorway.
"Coming, mother! Boys, it does one good to meet the right sort of fellows once in a while. Enjoy the woods in your own way, won't you?"
"That man is right. As he says, it does one good to meet the right sort of fellow once in a while—-and he's the right sort," declared Darry fervently, as the chums trudged back to their outfit.
Camp was pitched, and supper was soon under way. When it was all over, and everything cleaned up, Dick looked about him at his friends.
"I wonder if any of you fellows feel the way I do to-night?" he asked. "We still have our white clothes, and Fenton is something of a town. We've been in the woods for so long that I feel just like dressing up in white and taking a stroll into town."
Tom, Dan and Dave voted in the affirmative. Greg and Hazy averred that they had walked enough for one day. So the four boys donned white, while the other two remained behind in flannel and khaki.
Dick and the three companions of his stroll when almost in Fenton, were passing through a street of pretty little cottages when a tiny figure, clad in white ran out of the darkness, bumping into Dick's knees.
"Hello, little one!" cried Prescott, cheerily, picking up a wee little girl of four and holding her at arm's length. "Hello, you're crying. What's the matter? Lost mother?"
"No; lost papa," wailed the little one.
"Perhaps we can find him for you," offered Tom, readily.
"Mollie! Mollie, where are you?" came a woman's voice out of the darkness.
"Is this your little girl, madam?" called Prescott. "We'll bring her to you."
In another moment the woman, young and pretty, also dressed in white, had reached the child and was holding her by the hand.
"Oh, you little runaway!" chided Dave, smilingly, as he bent over, wagging a finger at the child.
"No; it's papa that runned away," gasped the little one, in a frightened voice. "He ran away to a saloon."
"Oh, said Dave, straightening up and feeling embarrassed as he caught the humiliated look in the young woman's face.
"Pa—-runned away and made mama cry," the little one babbled on, half sobbing. "I must go after him and bring him home."
"Be quiet, Mollie," commanded her mother.
"Papa comes, if he knows you want him," insisted the child. "I tell him you want him—-that you cry because he went to saloon."
For an instant the mother caught her breath. Then she began to cry bitterly. Dick and his friends wished themselves almost anywhere else.
"It's too bad when the children get old enough to realize it," said the woman, brokenly. Then, of a sudden, she eyed Dick and his chums bravely.
"Boys," she said, "I hope the time will never come when you'll feel that it's manly to go out with the crowd and spend the evening in drinking."
"The way we feel about it now," spoke Dick, sympathetically, "we'd rather be dead than facing any degradation of the sort."
They were only boys, and they were strangers to the woman. Moreover, little Mollie was looking pleadingly towards Dick, as if loath to let him go. In her misery the young wife poured out her story to her sympathetic listeners. Her husband had been a fine young fellow—-was still young. His drinking had begun only three months before.
"We have our own home, more than half paid for," added the woman, pointing to a pretty little cottage. "Tom has always been a good workman, never out of a job. But lately he has been spending his wages for drink. Last month we didn't make our payment on the house. Today he got his month's pay, and promised not to drink any more. He was going to take us into town to-night for a good time, and we were happy, weren't we, baby? Then two of his saloon cronies passed the house. Tom went with them, but said he would come right back for us. He hasn't come yet, and he won't come now until midnight. The month's pay will be gone, and that means that the home will be gone, after a little. Boys, I shall never see you again, and it has seemed a help to me to talk to you. Remember, don't ever——-"
"Madam," asked Dick, suddenly, in a husky tone, "do you mind telling us your husband's name, and the name of the place where he has gone?"
"His name is Tom Drake, and he has gone up to Miller's place," answered Mrs. Drake. "But why do you ask? What——-"
"Mrs. Drake," Dick continued, earnestly, "we don't want to be meddlers, and we'll keep out of this, if you request it. But the child has given me an inspiration that I could help you. If you authorize me, I'll go to Miller's and see if I can't help your husband to know that his happiness is right here, not in a saloon."
"I—-I fear that will be a big undertaking," quivered Mrs. Drake.
A big undertaking, indeed, it was bound to be!
"It's wonderfully kind of you!" breathed the woman, gratefully. "But it really won't do any good. When a man has begun to drink nothing can reclaim him from it. My only hope is to be able to have a talk with Tom when his money is gone."
"Of course if you dislike to have us try, Mrs. Drake——-" Dick began.
"I don't dislike to have you try!" cried the woman, quickly. "All I am thinking about is the hopelessness of your undertaking. You simply can't get Tom out of Miller's to-night until the owner of that awful place turns him out at closing time. I know! This has happened before."
Dick stood in an uncertain attitude, his cap in hand. The appealing face of the child, looking eagerly up at him, made him wish with all his heart to try to do a good act here, yet he couldn't think of going on such an errand without the young wife's permission.
"Let him go, mama," urged the child. "He'll bring papa back."
Dick looked questioningly at the woman.
"All right, then, go," she acquiesced. "Oh, I hope you have good luck, and that you don't make Tom ugly, either. I'll say, for him, that he has never been ugly yet."
"Mrs. Drake, we all four accept your commission—-or permission, whichever it is," replied Dick, bowing. "We'll try to use tact and judgment, and we'll try to bring Mr. Drake back with us."
Dick asked a few questions as to where Miller's place might be found. Then he set off, he and his chums walking abreast.
"Bring him back!" Mollie said plaintively. "Then mama won't cry, and I won't, either."
"I feel like a fool!" muttered Tom Reade, when they were out of earshot of the waiting mother and child.
"If you don't like the undertaking, you might keep in the background,"Dick suggested.
"It's likely I'd back out of anything that's moving, isn't it?" Reade demanded, offended. "I don't mind any disagreeable business that we may run into. But I feel like a fool when I think of the message we'll have to take back to that poor woman and baby."
"Tom Drake will deliver the message to them," replied Dick, firmly.
"If he's sober even now," murmured Danny Grin, uneasily.
"I'm strong for the task!" declared Dave Darrin, with enthusiasm.
"So would I be," Tom defended himself, "if I thought that even a night of fighting would result in anything like success. But——-"
"Better stop right here, then," Prescott, suggested, smiling earnestly.But neither of Dick's companions stopped.
They were walking briskly, now. As they had been told, Miller's was the first place on the right hand side, where the business street of Fenton began. It had been a tavern in the old days, and was still a big and roomy structure.
Yet there was no mistaking the room in which the object of their quest was to be found. The door of the saloon opened repeatedly while the boys stood regarding the place.
Dick stepped over to a man who had just come out.
"Is Tom Drake in there?" Dick asked.
"Yes."
"Is he sober?" Dick pressed.
"Yes; so far," answered the man.
"Will you do me a great favor? Just step inside and tell him that there is a man outside who wants to see him. Just tell him that, and nothing more."
"Are you from Drake's wife?" asked the man, looking Dick over shrewdly.
"Yes," Dick admitted, candidly.
"I'll do it," nodded the man. "Drake has been making a fool of himself. He'll go to pieces and find himself without a job before the year is out. You wait here. I'll find a way to coax him out for you."
Soon the door opened again, and there came out Prescott's messenger followed by a clean-cut, well-built young man of not more than twenty-eight years of age.
"There's the young man who says he wants to see you," the citizen explained, pointing to Dick.
Tom Drake walked steadily enough. He certainly was not yet much under the influence of liquor.
"You wanted to see me?" he asked, looking somewhat puzzled as he eyed young Prescott.
"Yes," Dick admitted.
"What about?"
"Will you take a short walk with me," Dick went on, "and I'll explain my business to you."
"I don't believe I can take a walk with you," Drake answered."I'm with some friends in there."
He nodded over his shoulder at the door through which he had just come.
"But my business is of a great deal of importance," Dick went on.
"Can't you see me to-morrow?" asked Drake, eager to get back to his companions.
"To-morrow will be altogether too late," Dick replied.
"Then state your business now."
"I'd much rather explain it you as you walk with me," Prescott urged, earnestly.
"Are—-are you from the building loan people?" asked Tom Drake, suddenly.
"No, I am not from them," Prescott replied, then added, truthfully enough: "But it's partly about that building loan matter that I wish to talk with you."
"Who sent you here?" asked Drake, half-suspiciously.
"A child," Dick replied. "At least, it was a child's face that gave me the resolution to come here and have a few words with you."
"A child?" repeated Drake. "What child?"
"Yours."
"A child?" echoed the young man. "Mine? Do you mean Mollie?"
"Yes," Dick went on, rapidly. "The child wanted to come here herself to get you, and I came in her stead. It was better that I should come than that little tot. Don't you think so?"
"I'm afraid I don't understand you," returned Tom Drake, beginning to look offended.
"Mr. Drake, do you know that your wife and child are all dressed up—-in their prettiest white gowns, waiting for you to come back to bring them into town to-night for the promised treat? Don't you understand the pain that you're giving them by showing that you prefer a lot of red-nosed loafers in Miller's to your own wife and child? The unhappiness that you're causing them to-night isn't a circumstance to all the misery that you're piling up for them in the years to come. Switch off! Switch off, while you're yet man enough to be able to do it! Won't you do it—-please? You must know just how happy that little kid will be when she sees you come swinging down the street to bring her and her mother into town. You know how that little tot's eyes will shine. Can't you hear her saying, `Here's papa! He's come.' Isn't that baby worth a twenty-mile walk for any man to see when he knows she's his own kiddie and waiting for him? Come along, now; they're both waiting for you; they will be the happiest pair you've seen in a long time."
"I don't know but I will toddle along home," said Drake, rather shame-facedly. "I—-I didn't realize how time was slipping by. Yes; I guess I'll go home. Much obliged to you for letting me know the time."
But at that moment the door opened, and a voice called out:
"Drake! Oh, Drake. Come here; we want you."
"Can't, now," the young man called back. "I'm due at home."
"Home?" came in two or three jeering voices.
Then several men came out of the saloon, laughing boisterously.
"Come back, Drake! We can't let you slip off like that. You're too good a fellow to play the sneak with us. Come on back!"
"I—-I tell you, I'm due at home," insisted Drake, though he spoke more weakly.
"Hey! Here's Drake—-says he's going to slip home on us!" called one of the tormentors.
More men came out of the place, some of them staggering. With the new arrivals came one whom Dick and his friends rightly guessed to be Miller—-a thickset man, with swaggering manner, insolent expression and rough voice.
"What's this about your going home, Drake?" demanded one of the new arrivals.
"I—-I really ought to go home," Drake tried to explain.