“Swinging along a country road on Long Island.”
BEING THE ADVENTURES OF THE
BIG FOUR ON THE HIGHWAY
By RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
Author of “The Half-Back,” “Behind the Line,”
“Weatherby’s Inning,” “On Your Mark,”
“Four in Camp,” etc.
To L. S. S.
IN MEMORY OF PLEASANT HOURS
TO THE READER
Many of you who followed the adventures of Nelson, Dan, Bob, and Tom, as narrated in a previous story, Four in Camp, have very kindly professed a willingness to hear more about this quartette of everyday boys, and the author, who has himself grown rather fond of the “Big Four,” was very well pleased to take them again for his heroes. It seems now as though there might even be a third volume to the series—but that will depend altogether on how well you like this one, for, as of course you understand, the author is writing in an effort to please you, and not himself. And if he doesn’t please you, he would be very glad to have you tell him so, and why.
If you go to searching your map of Long Island for the places mentioned in this story you will be disappointed. They are all there, but, with one or two exceptions, under other names. You see, it doesn’t do to be too explicit in a case of this sort. Mr. William Hooper, for instance, might seriously object were you to stop in front of his house and remark, “Huh! there’s where old Bill Hooper lives, the fellow that wouldn’t give the ‘four’ any supper!” Of course it is different in the case of Sag Harbor—that town has already been immortalized on the stage, and is probably by this time quite hardened to publicity. And as for Jericho—but then they never got there!
Ralph Henry Barbour.
Cambridge, Mass.
FOUR AFOOT
“On to Jericho!”
Dan Speede took the car steps at a bound and was out on the station platform looking eagerly about him before the other three boys had struggled through the car door. Swinging his pack to his shoulders, he waved an imaginary sword about his head and struck an attitude in which his right hand pointed determinedly toward the country road.
“Forward, brave comrades!” he shouted.
The brave comrades, tumbling down the steps, cheered enthusiastically, while the occupants of the car in which the quartet had traveled from Long Island City looked wonderingly out upon them. But as the present conduct of the boys was only on a par with what had gone before, the passengers soon settled back into their seats, and the train puffed on its way. Tom Ferris waved gayly to the occupants of the passing windows and then followed the others along the platform. The station was a small one, and save for a farmer who was loading empty milk cans into a wagon far down the track, there was no one in sight.
“Which way do we go?” asked Nelson Tilford.
For answer Bob Hethington produced his “Sectional Road Map of Long Island, Showing the Good Roads, with Description of Scenery, Routes, etc.,” and spread it out against the side of the station.
“Here we are,” he said. “Locust Park. And here’s our road.”
“That’s all right,” answered Nelson, following the other’s finger. “I see the road on your old map, but where is it on the landscape?”
“Why, down there somewhere. It crosses the track just beyond the station.”
“Certainly, but you don’t happen to see it anywhere, do you?” asked Dan.
Bob had to acknowledge that he didn’t.
“Come on; we’ll ask Mr. Farmer down here,” said Tom.
So they went on down the track to the little platform from which the milk was loaded on to the cars and hailed the farmer.
“Good morning,” said Dan. “Which is the road to Jericho, please?”
The farmer paused in his task and looked them over speculatively. Finally,
“Want to go to Jericho, do you?” he asked.
“Yes,” answered Dan.
“Are you in a hurry?”
“Why—no, I don’t suppose so. Why?”
“’Cause there’s a train in about an hour that’ll take you to Hicksville, and it’s about two miles from there by the road.”
“But we just got off the train,” objected Nelson.
“So I seen,” was the calm response. “Why didn’t you stay on? Didn’t you have no money?”
“Yes, but we wanted to walk,” answered Bob. “Which way do we go?”
“Want to walk, eh? Well, you won’t have no trouble, I guess. Pretty fair walkers, are you?”
“Bully!” answered Dan.
“Fond of exercise, I guess?”
“Love it!”
“That so? Well, there’s lots of good walkin’ around here; the roads is full of it.”
“Oh, come on,” said Tom impatiently. “He’s plumb crazy!”
“Hold on,” interposed the farmer. “I’m tellin’ you just as fast as I know how, ain’t I?”
“Maybe,” answered Dan politely, “but you see we sort of want to get to Jericho before Sunday. And as it’s already Monday morning——”
“Thought you said you weren’t in no hurry,” objected the farmer.
“Well, if you call that being in a hurry,” Dan replied, “I guess we lied to you. If you happen to have any idea where the Jericho road is——”
“Well, I’d oughter, seems to me. I live on it. Are you all going?”
“Every last one of us,” answered Nelson.
“Tell him how old we are and the family history and let’s get on,” suggested Dan sotto voce.
“Well, there’s four of you, eh?”
“I think so.” Bob made pretense of counting the assembly with much difficulty. “Stand still, Tom, till I count you. Yes, sir, that’s right; there are four of us.”
“Well, two of you could sit on the seat with me and two of you could kind of hang out behind, I guess.”
“Oh, much obliged,” said Bob. “But really we’d rather walk. We’re taking a walking trip down the island.”
“You don’t say! Well, you go back there about a half a mile and you’ll find a road crossing the track. You take that until you fetch the country road going to your right. Keep along that and it’s about nine miles to Jericho.”
“Thanks,” said Dan.
“You’re welcome. That’s the best way if you’re real fond of walking.”
“Oh,” said Bob suspiciously. “And supposing we aren’t?”
“Then you’d better go the shorter way and save about two miles,” answered the farmer gravely.
“Which way’s that?”
“Right down the track here for a quarter of a mile till you come to a road going to the left. Take that for half a mile and then turn to your right on the country road.”
“Thanks again,” said Bob. “You’ve had a whole lot of fun with us, haven’t you?”
“Well, you’re sort of amusin’,” answered the farmer with a twinkle in his eye. “But I been more entertained at the circus.”
Bob smiled in spite of himself, and the others grinned also; all save Tom.
“B-b-b-blamed old ha-ha-hayseed!” growled Tom. “Hope he ch-ch-ch-chokes!”
The four took their way down the track, Bob highly pleased to find the truthfulness of his map established; although Dan declared that a map that would lie nearly a quarter of a mile couldn’t be fairly called truthful. When they had gone a hundred yards or so the farmer hailed them.
“What is it?” shouted Bob.
“Got friends in Jericho, have you?” called the farmer.
“No,” answered Bob, adding “confound you” under his breath.
“Going to take dinner there, be you?”
“I guess so. Why?”
“Well, you go to William Hooper’s place about a mile t’other side of the village, and say Abner Wade sent you. He’ll look after you, William will.”
“Thank you,” called Bob.
“He seems to be a decent chap after all,” said Nelson.
“The only trouble with him is that he’s like Dan,” answered Bob. “He’s got an overdeveloped sense of humor.”
They tramped on, and presently found the road that crossed the railway. Turning into this they struck due north; at least that’s what Tom declared after consulting the compass which he carried in his pocket. Bob looked at his watch.
“Nine-fifteen,” he announced. “We’ve got lots of time. Seven miles in three hours is too easy.”
“If that old codger told us the right way,” amended Tom.
“He did, because the map shows it,” responded Bob.
“Don’t talk to us about that old map,” said Dan. “It’s an awful liar, Bob.”
And while they are quarreling good-naturedly about it let us have a look at them.
The boy walking ahead, swinging that stick he has cut from a willow tree, is Nelson Tilford. Nelson—sometimes “Nels” to his friends—lives in Boston within sight of the golden dome and is a student at Hillton Academy; and next year he expects, if all goes well, to be a freshman at Erskine College. That apparent slimness is a bit misleading, for the muscles under the gray flannel suit are hard as iron, and what Nelson lacks in breadth and stature is quite made up in strength and agility. In the same way the quiet, thoughtful expression on his face doesn’t tell all the truth. Nelson is a good student, fond of books and inclined to think matters out for himself, but at the same time he is fond of sports and has been known to get into mischief.
Next to him walks Tom—familiarly “Tommy”—Ferris; residence, Chicago; age, fourteen years—almost fifteen now. Tom is inclined toward stoutness, has light hair and gray eyes, is at once good-natured and lazy, and has a positive talent for getting into trouble. Tommy expresses himself clearly until he becomes excited; then he stutters ludicrously. Tommy is also a Hillton boy, but is one class behind Nelson, a fact which troubles him a good deal, since he wants very much to go up to college with his friend.
The big, broad-shouldered boy with the red hair and rollicking blue eyes is Dan Speede. Dan, who hails from New York, is fifteen years old. Whereas Tom spends a good deal of his time getting into trouble himself, Dan is tireless in his efforts to get others into trouble; and he usually succeeds. For the rest, he is fond of fun, afraid of nothing, and hasn’t an ounce of meanness in him. Dan is in his senior year at St. Eustace Academy, and he, too, has his heart set on Erskine College.
The last boy of the four—and the eldest—is Bob Hethington, of Portland, Maine. Bob is sixteen—nearly seventeen—and is big, quiet-appearing, and unexcitable. He has curly black hair and eyes and is distinctly good-looking. Bob, too, is booked for Erskine.
Perhaps you have met these boys before, when, at Camp Chicora, last summer, they gained the title of the Big Four. If so, you are undoubtedly wondering how it happens that we find them on this bright morning in early September swinging along a country road on Long Island. Well, it was all Dan’s fault. Dan took it into his head to get sick in early summer. As he had never been sick before to amount to anything, he thought he might as well do the thing right. So he had typhoid fever. That was in June, just after school closed, and he spent the succeeding two months at home. He didn’t have a good time, and even when the doctor declared him well, Dan felt, as he himself expressed it, like a last summer’s straw hat. So there was a family council. Dan’s mother said Dan ought to stay out of school and go abroad. Dan said, “Nonsense.” So the matter was left to the physician. He said what Dan needed was outdoor exercise, plenty of fresh air, and all that.
“Let him get into an old suit of clothes,” said the doctor, “and take a walking trip.” (You see, the doctor was a bit old-fashioned.) “Nothing like walking; sea trips and sanitariums aren’t half as good. He needn’t hurry; just let him wander around country for two or three weeks; that’ll set him up, you see if it doesn’t.”
Dan liked the idea, but the thought of wandering around the country alone didn’t appeal to him. “If I could only get Nelson or Bob or Tommy to go along,” he said.
“Perhaps you can,” said his father.
So three letters were written and dispatched and soon three answers came. Nelson was glad to go, Bob was equally willing, and Tom was “tickled to death.” Bob and Nelson had been at Camp Chicora most of the summer, while Tom had spent his vacation at one of the Michigan lake resorts. The last week in August there was a jolly gathering of the clans at Dan’s house, a happy reunion, and an excited discussion of ways and means. Mr. Speede engineered affairs, and by the fourth day of September all was ready. There had been much discussion as to where they should go. Nelson recommended his own State, Bob thought Pennsylvania about right, and Tom favored the Adirondacks. It was Dan’s father who thought of Long Island.
“In the first place,” he pointed out, “it’s right at our back door, and you won’t have to waste a day in getting there; and as you’ve got only three weeks at the most before school begins, that’s worth considering. Then, too, if anything should happen to you, I could get you here in a few hours. Long Island isn’t the biggest stretch of country in the world, but there’s over a hundred miles of it as to length, and I guess you can keep busy. Besides, the towns are near together and you’ll be able to find good sleeping accommodations; and I’d rather Dan didn’t do too much sleeping out of doors just at first.”
So the map of Long Island was produced and studied, and the more they studied it the better they liked it. It was unknown territory to them all, for even Dan’s knowledge of the place was limited to Coney Island, and the names of places—names which amused Tommy vastly—and the evident abundance of good roads won the day.
“Me for Long Island!” declared Nelson.
“Same here,” said Tommy. “I want to go to Jericho.”
“And I want to go to Yaphank,” declared Bob.
“And Skookwams Neck for mine!” cried Dan.
So they started to lay out a route. They laid out six. The first left out Lake Ronkonkoma, and Tommy declared he just had to see Lake Ronkonkoma. The second omitted Ketcaboneck, and Bob said he couldn’t go back home without having seen Ketcaboneck. The third slighted Aquebogue, and Nelson refused to go unless that charming place was on the route. And so it went, with much laughter, until finally Mr. Speede advised them to settle only on a place to start from, take the map with them, and decide their itinerary as they went along. That pleased even Tommy.
“I shall visit Quogue if I have to go alone,” he said.
What to take with them was a question which occasioned almost as much discussion. Tommy had brought his trunk and wanted to take most of its contents along. In the end Mr. Speede’s counsel prevailed and each boy limited his luggage to the barest necessities. Light rubber ponchos—squares with a hole cut in the middle which could be slipped over the head when it rained—were purchased, and these were to be used as knapsacks, the other articles being rolled up inside. The other articles included a towel, bathing trunks, brush and comb, toothbrush, extra shoe laces, a light-weight flannel shirt, three pairs of stockings, and handkerchiefs. Each boy carried a collapsible drinking cup in his pocket, Bob took charge of the map, and Tom was the proud possessor of a compass. Tom also carried a folding camera, having at length been prevailed upon to leave a choice library of fiction, a single-barreled shotgun, and two suits of clothing behind him.
Old clothes, stout shoes, cloth caps, and light flannel shirts with collars was the general attire. And so clothed, each with his pack in hand, the four said good-by to Mr. and Mrs. Speede on Monday morning, took car to the ferry, crossed the river, and boarded an early train for Locust Park, at which point their journey on foot was to begin. And so we find them, Dan a trifle pale of face but as merry and happy as any, trudging along the road toward Jericho, each prepared for a good time and eager for adventures.
And adventures were awaiting them.
It was a fresh, cool morning, with a southerly breeze blowing up from the ocean and rustling the leaves of the willows and maples along the meadow walls. Big fleecy clouds sailed slowly across a blue September sky, hundreds of birds flitted about the way and made the journey musical, and life was well worth living. Not until they had turned into the country road, a level, well-kept thoroughfare, did they catch a glimpse of any habitation. Then a comfortable-looking farmhouse with its accompanying barns and stables came into view.
“Let’s go in and get a drink of water,” suggested Tom.
No one else, however, was thirsty, and so Tom passed in through the big gate alone while the others made themselves comfortable on the top of the wall. Tom was gone a long time, but finally, just when Dan was starting off to find him, he came into sight.
“What’s he got?” asked Nelson.
“Looks as though he was eating something,” answered Dan. “By Jupiter, it’s pie!”
“You fellows missed it,” called Tom, smiling broadly. “She gave me a piece of apple pie and it was great.”
“Doesn’t look like apple,” said Bob.
“Oh, this is squash. The first piece was apple,” was the cheerful reply.
“Well, of all pigs!” said Nelson. “How many pieces did you have?”
“Only two,” was the unruffled response. “And a glass of milk.”
Nelson looked his disgust, but Dan, reaching forward, sent the half-consumed wedge of pastry into the dust.
“Hope you ch-ch-choke!” said Tommy warmly, viewing his prize ruefully. “It was gu-gu-gu-good pie, too!”
But he got no sympathy from his laughing companions. Bob declared that it served him jolly well right.
“He’ll wish he hadn’t eaten any before he gets to the end of the day’s journey,” said Dan. “We’ve got six miles and more to Jericho, and I guess we’d better be doing ’em.”
So they took up the march again. Everyone was in high feather. Side excursions into adjoining fields were made, Dan went a hundred yards out of his way to shy a stone at a noisy frog, and Nelson climbed a cedar tree to its topmost branches merely because Bob hazarded the opinion that cedar trees were hard to shin up. Only Tommy seemed to experience none of the intoxication of the highway and the morning air. Tommy appeared a bit sluggish, and kept dropping back, necessitating frequent halts.
“Look here, Tommy,” said Dan presently, “we’re awfully fond of you, but we love honor more; also dinner. If you really want to spend the day around here studying nature, why just say so; we’ll wait for you at Jericho.”
Whereupon Tom gave a grunt and moved faster. But at the end of half an hour the truth was out; Tommy didn’t feel just right.
“Where do you hurt?” asked Bob skeptically.
“I—I have a beast of a pain in my chest,” said Tom, leaning against a fence and laying one hand pathetically halfway down the front of his flannel shirt. The others howled gleefully.
“On his chest!” shrieked Dan.
“Sure it isn’t a headache?” laughed Nelson.
Tom looked aggrieved.
“I gu-gu-gu-guess if you fu-fu-fu-fellows had it you wu-wu-wu-wu-wu——”
“Look here, Tommy,” said Bob, “you haven’t got a pain; you’ve just swallowed an alarm clock!”
“That’s what you get for eating all that pie and making a hog of yourself,” said Dan sternly.
“It’s Tommy’s tummy,” murmured Nelson.
Whatever it was, it undoubtedly hurt, for Tommy was soon doubled up on the grass groaning dolefully. The others, exchanging comical glances, made themselves comfortable alongside.
“Got anything in your medicine chest that will help him, Dan?” asked Nelson. Dan shook his head. The medicine chest consisted of a two-ounce bottle of camphor liniment and a similar sized flask of witch-hazel.
“How you feeling now, Tommy?” asked Bob gravely.
“Better,” muttered Tom. “I’d ju-ju-ju-just like to know what that woman put in her pu-pu-pu-pie!”
“You don’t suppose it was poison, do you?” asked Dan, with a wink at the others.
Tom’s head came up like a shot and he stared wildly about him.
“I bu-bu-bu-bet it wa-wa-wa-was!” he shrieked. “It fu-fu-feels like it! A-a-a-a-arsenic!”
“That’s mean, Dan,” said Bob. “He’s only fooling, Tommy. You have just got a plain, everyday tummyache. Lie still a bit and you’ll be all right.”
Tom looked from one to the other in deep mistrust.
“If I du-du-du-die,” he wailed, “I—I——”
He broke off to groan and wriggle uneasily.
“What, Tommy?” asked Dan with a grin.
“I—I hope you all ch-ch-ch-ch-choke!”
Tom’s pain in his “chest” kept them there the better part of two hours, and it was past eleven when the invalid pronounced himself able to continue the journey. There was still some four miles to go in order to reach Jericho, which hamlet they had settled upon as their dinner stop, and they struck out briskly.
“What was that chap’s name?” asked Dan. “The one we were to get dinner from.”
“Hooper,” answered Bob, “William Hooper. I wish I was there now. I’m as hungry as a bear.”
There was a groan from Tom.
“That’s all right, Tommy, but we haven’t feasted on nice apple and squash pie, you see.”
“Shut up!” begged Tom.
“How big’s this Jericho place?” asked Nelson.
Out came Bob’s road map.
“Seems to be about three houses there according to this,” answered Bob.
“Gee! I hope we don’t get by without seeing it,” said Dan. “Do you suppose there’s a sign on it?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve heard there was a tree opposite it,” Bob replied gravely. “And there’s something else here too,” he continued, still studying the map. “It’s a long, black thing; looks as though it might be a skating rink or a ropewalk.”
“Maybe it’s the poorhouse,” suggested Dan, looking over his shoulder.
“Or a hospital for Tommy,” added Nelson.
“Anyhow, I hope there’s something to eat there,” said Bob.
“Me too,” sighed Nelson. “This is the longest old seven miles I ever saw. And it’s after twelve o’clock. Sure we’re on the right road, Bob?”
“Of course. Look at the map.”
“Oh, hang the map! Let’s ask some one.”
“All right. It does seem a good ways. We’ll ask the next person we see.”
But although they had met half a dozen persons up to that time, it seemed now that the district had suddenly become depopulated. Nelson said he guessed they were all at home eating dinner. After another half hour of steady walking, during which time Tom recovered his spirits, they came into sight of a little village set along the road. There was one store there and some five or six houses.
“Anyhow,” said Dan hopefully, “we can get some crackers and cheese in the store.”
But when they had piled through the door they changed their minds. It was a hardware store! A little old man with a bald head and brass-rimmed spectacles limped down behind the counter to meet them.
“Is this Jericho?” asked Bob.
“Jericho? No, this ain’t Jericho,” was the answer.
“Oh! Er—what is it?”
“Bakerville.”
“Where’s Bakerville?”
“Right here.”
“I know, but—well, where’s Jericho?”
“’Bout eight miles from here.”
Four boys groaned in unison. Bob pulled out his map, in spite of the fact that Dan looked as though he was ready to seize upon and destroy it.
“That’s right,” said Bob sadly. “We got too far north.”
“I should say we did!” snorted Dan. “About eight miles!”
“But I don’t see how we managed to get off the right road,” said Bob.
“I do,” answered Nelson. “Don’t you remember when Tom was laid out? There were two roads there just beyond. We must have taken the wrong one.”
“That’s so,” said Tom; “I remember.”
“Lots of good your remembering does now,” grunted Nelson. “If you hadn’t got to fussing with those pies——!”
“Thought you was in Jericho, did yer?” asked the shopkeeper with a chuckle. They nodded soberly. “Well, well, that’s a good joke, ain’t it?”
“Swell!” muttered Dan.
Tom grunted something about choking.
“Is there any place here where we can get something to eat?” asked Bob.
“I guess not, but there’s a hotel about a mile along. I guess you can get something there.”
So they prevailed on him to go to the door with them and point out the way.
“It’s on your way to Jericho,” said the storekeeper, pointing out the road. “You turn down that first road there and then bear to the left until you come to a big white farmhouse. Then you turn to the right and keep on about half a mile, or maybe a mile, and the Center House is just a little beyond. It’s a brown house with lots of windows and a barn.”
“Can’t help finding it,” muttered Dan sarcastically.
They were rather quiet as they passed through the village and took the turn indicated. From one house came an enticing odor of onions, and Dan leaned up against a telephone pole and pretended to weep. That mile was as long as two, but in the end they came into sight of the “brown house with lots of windows and a barn.” But it didn’t look very hospitable. The windows were closed and shuttered, and the barn appeared to be in the last stages of decay. With sinking hearts they climbed the steps and beat a tattoo on the front door. All was silence.
“Empty!” groaned Nelson.
“Nothing doing!” murmured Dan.
“Hit it again,” counseled Tommy.
They all took a hand at beating on that door, but it didn’t do the least bit of good. The place was empty and closed up. Nelson sat down on the top step and stared sadly across the country road. Tom joined him.
“Wish I had some more of that pie,” he muttered.
Bob produced the map, which was already getting frayed at the corners, and opened it out.
“The best thing to do,” he said, “is to keep on till we find a farmhouse or something, and beg some food.”
“I could eat raw dog,” said Dan. “Any houses in sight on that lying map of yours?”
“Sure.”
“How many miles off?”
“About—er—about two or three, I should say.”
“Can’t be done,” said Dan decidedly. “I couldn’t walk two miles if there was a thousand dollars at the end of it.”
“I could do it if there was a ham sandwich at the end of it,” said Nelson.
“Hunger has driven him daffy,” explained Dan sadly.
“Well, there’s no use staying here,” said Bob impatiently.
“Oh, I don’t know. Might as well die here as anywhere,” answered Nelson.
“Wasn’t it your father, Dan, who said the beauty about Long Island was that the towns were near together and we could get good accommodations easily?” asked Tom.
Dan made no answer.
Suddenly a noise startled them. At the end of the porch stood a boy of sixteen in an old blue shirt and faded overalls. He was plainly surprised to see them, and stood looking at them for several seconds before he spoke. Finally,
“Hello!” he said.
“Greetings,” answered Dan. “Will you kindly send the head waiter to us?”
“Huh?” asked the youth.
“Well, never mind then. Just show us to our rooms. We’ll have a light lunch sent up and keep our appetites for dinner.”
“Is the hotel closed?” interrupted Bob. The youth nodded.
“Yep. They didn’t make no money last summer, so they didn’t open it this year. Did you knock?”
“Oh, no, we didn’t exactly knock,” answered Dan. “We only kind of tapped weakly.”
“Want anything?”
“Yes, a man at Bakerville said we could get some dinner here. I don’t suppose we can, though,” added Bob sadly. The other shook his head slowly.
“Guess not,” he said. “There’s a hotel at Minton Hill, though. There’s lots of summer folks there.”
“How far’s that?”
“Not more’n six miles.”
The four groaned in unison.
“We haven’t had anything since seven o’clock,” said Nelson.
“You ain’t?” The youth became instantly sympathetic. “Well, ain’t that too bad?”
The question scarcely seemed to demand an answer and so received none. The youth in the overalls frowned deeply.
“Well, now, look here,” he said finally. “Me an’ dad lives back here in the barn and looks after the farm. We ain’t got much, but if some bread and butter and milk will do, why, I guess——”
The four threw themselves upon him as one man.
“Bread!” shouted Dan.
“Butter!” cried Nelson.
“Milk!” gurgled Tommy.
“Lead the way!” said Bob.
That was a strange meal and an enjoyable one. The menu wasn’t elaborate, but their appetites were, and not one of the four was inclined to be critical. What had formerly been the carriage house had been fitted up with a couple of cot beds, some chairs, a stove, and a table, into an airy, if not very well-appointed, apartment. The boy in overalls, whose name during the subsequent conversation transpired to be Jerry Hinkley, produced a loaf of bread and a pat of butter from a box, and then disappeared for a minute. When he returned he brought a battered tin can half full of milk. Eating utensils were scarce, and the boys had to take turns with the two knives and the two thick china cups. The table boasted no cloth, and Tom had to sit on an empty box, but those were mere details.
“I looked to see if I could find a few eggs,” said Jerry, as he poured out the milk, “but we ain’t got but eight hens and they ain’t been layin’ much lately.”
“This will do finely,” mumbled Dan, with his mouth full of bread and butter.
“It’s swell,” said Tom from behind his cup.
The doors were wide open, and the September sunlight streamed in over the dusty floor. A bedraggled rooster, followed cautiously by a trio of dejected-looking hens, approached and observed the banquet from the doorsill, clucking suspiciously. Jerry sat on the edge of one of the cots and watched proceedings with interest. But he seemed uneasy, and once or twice he started up only to change his mind with a troubled frown and return to his seat. Finally he asked awkwardly:
“Say, was you fellows meanin’ to pay anything for your food?”
“Of course,” Bob assured him. “You don’t think we’re going to let you feed us for nothing?”
“That’s all right, then,” said Jerry, looking vastly relieved. “We got some bacon and if you say so I’ll fry you some in a jiffy.”
The boys howled approval.
“You see,” continued Jerry, “I was most skeered to give you bacon ’cause dad would have missed it when he got back. Dad ain’t got much money, an’ I guess he wouldn’t like me to be too free with the victuals. But if you’re willin’ to pay——”
“Sure, we’ll pay,” said Bob.
So Jerry set a frying pan on top of the stove, touched a match to the pile of straw and corncobs inside, and produced a strip of bacon from the larder. Even Bob, who prided himself on his culinary abilities, had to pay tribute to Jerry’s deftness. In ten minutes the first panful of crisp bacon was ready and a second lot was sizzling on the stove.
“Talk about your reed birds!” said Dan eloquently.
“Never tasted anything better in my life,” said Nelson. “Is there any more milk there?”
Ten minutes later the banquet was a thing of the past, and the four sat back and sighed luxuriously.
“That was sure fine,” said Dan. “My, but I was hungry!”
“Me too,” answered Nelson. “But look here, how about you?” He looked inquiringly at Jerry. “We haven’t left you a thing.”
“Oh, I had my dinner at twelve,” answered their host, as he cleared the table. “You see we have our breakfast about six, dad an’ me.”
“You say your father’s away to-day?” asked Bob.
“Yes, gone over to Roslyn to buy some feed for the horse.”
“And you live here all the year, do you?”
“We only come here last April. We used to have a farm down near Hicksville, but we lost it.”
“That’s too bad. Is there just you and your father?”
Jerry nodded soberly.
“Mother died year ago last May. Me an’ dad’s been kind of helpless since then. Things don’t seem to go just right nowadays.”
“Do you go to school?” asked Nelson.
“No. I did one year over to Newton. It was a mighty nice school too. There was three teachers. I learnt a whole lot that winter. I been intendin’ to go again, but since mother died——”
Jerry’s voice dwindled away into silence while he stared out into the sunlit stable yard.
“I see,” said Bob sympathetically.
“Mother she taught me a lot at home when I was just a kid,” resumed Jerry. “Spellin’, ’rithmetic, and all about Scotland. She was born in Scotland, you see. I guess I know more’n most fellers about Scotland,” he added proudly.
“I bet you know a heap more about it than I do,” said Bob.
“I guess you’re through school, ain’t you?” asked Jerry.
“I get through this year,” answered Bob. “Then I’m going to college.”
Jerry’s eyes brightened.
“Is that so?” he asked eagerly. “I guess you’re pretty smart. What college are you going to?”
“Erskine. Ever hear of it?”
“No.” Jerry shook his head apologetically. “You see I don’t know much about colleges. I—I’d like to see one. I guess Yale must be pretty fine. I expect it’s bigger’n that boardin’ school over to Garden City?”
“St. Paul’s? Some bigger, yes.”
“Is the school you been going to like St. Paul’s?”
“Not much, but Nelson and Tommy here go to a school a good deal the same. Hillton. Ever hear of Hillton?”
Again Jerry shook his head.
“What’s it like, your school?” he asked.