Kitabı oku: «Dorothy's Triumph», sayfa 6
“Boys, I really must congratulate you on your presence of mind,” said Dorothy, when the riders had disappeared from view. “You handled the matter perfectly. Wait till I tell Ephraim to let Len come out from under cover,” and she left them to enter the tent.
Len was nearly roasted when he emerged from beneath the quilt, for the weather was excessively warm and his clothes were not as thin as they might have been. But he was smiling bravely through the perspiration, and rejoiced with the others that he had been so lucky as to escape being returned to captivity.
“I don’t understand how my uncle ever influenced the sheriff to help him hunt for me,” he said. “I know Sheriff Dundon, and he’s a mighty good man. He knows very well the way I was treated, so Uncle James must have pulled the wool over his eyes some way. Well, I reckon it don’t matter much now. They’re gone and I hope they’ll never come back.”
“It won’t do to take any chances, yet, Len,” said Aunt Betty. “You’ll have to spend most of your time in the tent, with someone constantly on watch outside. It will be pretty hard on you, but better than going back to the life you left.”
“I don’t mind in the least, Mrs. Calvert – staying in the tent, I mean. I’d do anything to escape my uncle. He’s certainly the meanest man on earth.”
Aunt Betty’s plan was followed during the next few days, but neither Sheriff Dundon or James Haley put in a further appearance at the camp. Aunt Betty cautioned Len, however, to keep out of sight until the end of the trip, at which time he was to be piled into the big auto and taken with them back to Baltimore.
The party had been in the mountains a week before Jim and Gerald decided to put into practice their oft-repeated resolve to go fishing. Dorothy and Molly begged to be taken along, and to this the boys reluctantly consented.
The trout stream in the valley was the objective point of the pilgrimage. Here, in the spot where Molly had discovered the fish swimming about in plain view of those on shore, they would try their luck.
Aurora, interested in a book, refused to be tempted by the other girls, and stated her intention of remaining in camp with Aunt Betty, Ephraim and Len.
With a bundle of sandwiches and their tackle, the fishing party got away from camp in the early morning, planning to spend the better part of the day in enticing the denizens of the deep to nibble at their flies. Then the return to camp could be made in the cool of the evening between sundown and dark.
By nine o’clock they were seated on the bank of the stream, poles in hand, and lines cast far out into the stream.
At first the girls kept up an incessant chatter, in spite of the warning from Jim and Gerald that if they did not stop they would scare the fish away.
“Nonsense!” cried Molly, laughing aloud at the warning. “Fish can’t hear.”
At this Jim and Gerald exchanged glances of amused tolerance.
“Told you we should have left ’em at home,” said the latter.
“I knew it,” Jim replied. “It was only through the kindness of my heart that I agreed to let them come.”
This statement only served to amuse Dorothy and Molly, and their laughter rang out over the water so loudly, that Jim and Gerald, with sighs of resignation, began winding in their lines with the evident intention of departing.
At first this increased the merriment of the girls. But when they saw the boys taking their poles apart, and stowing the sections away in their fishing bags, they realized that they had really incurred the displeasure of their young friends by what they had intended as a joke.
“Come,” said Dorothy, soberly. “You boys are not going home?”
“Oh, aren’t we?” demanded Gerald.
“Yes; we’re going home,” Jim said, rather curtly. “Where did you think we were going – to the village?”
“Oh, come! You must have known Molly and I were only joking?”
“Of course, they knew it,” Molly chimed in, in a careless tone.
“There’s such a thing as carrying a joke too far,” said Gerald.
“No use to argue with a couple of girls, Gerald,” said Jim. “Let’s take ’em home and come back to-morrow.”
“Suits me,” responded his chum. “I hate to think we’ve had this long jaunt for nothing, but there’s an old saying to the effect that we must learn by experience.”
Their poles “knocked down,” and stowed away in their canvas cases, the boys picked up their coats and prepared to move.
“Oh, I say, this is a shame!” cried Dorothy. “I had counted on having such a good time.”
“So had I,” echoed Molly – “such a good time!”
“So had we,” said the boys in unison.
“But we didn’t,” Jim added.
“No; we didn’t,” echoed Gerald.
“Well, it wasn’t our fault,” said Dorothy.
“We thought you could take a joke,” said Molly.
“We can,” Gerald replied. “It’s a good joke. We’re willing to admit it’s on us. You asked to come; we consented. That was our fault, not yours.”
“Yes,” Jim put in, “we thought you knew at least the rudiments of fishing.”
Molly shrugged her shoulders.
“Oh, dear, what a fuss over nothing,” she groaned. “And to think I started it all by remarking that fish have no ears. And I’ll stand by my statement. I’m sure I am right.”
“No use to argue with a girl,” said Jim.
“Not a bit,” Gerald replied. “Let’s get ’em back to camp.”
“I refuse to go!” The fire fairly flashed from Dorothy’s eyes. “I came down here to fish, and fish I shall until I get ready to stop, and you’re a bigger ‘it’ than I think you are, Molly Breckenridge, if you let two unruly boys bluff you into doing as they wish.”
“Then we’ll have to leave you here,” said Jim, in the most matter of fact tone he could muster.
Gerald nodded assent.
Then both boys assumed an independent air, and acted as if they were going to leave – as much as to say that settled the matter.
“Well, let’s be going,” said Gerald, casting a sly glance toward Dorothy, and noticing that she made no move to wind in her line. He picked up his basket and threw an inquiring glance at Jim.
“Of course, if the girls agree to keep still, it won’t be necessary for us to go,” said Jim.
“Too bad we didn’t think of that before we wound in our lines,” Gerald lamented.
“Well, it’s never too late to let them out again,” Dorothy said, coolly.
“Will you promise to be quiet, Dorothy?”
“I promise nothing, Jim Barlow!”
“Oh, come now; don’t act contrary!”
“It’s not me who’s contrary, and you know it very well.”
“You said you were going back to camp. Why don’t you go?” Molly flung at them, tauntingly.
“Well, by cracky, we should; it would serve you right,” Gerald responded, slightly impatient. “You girls have no right to treat us this way. We brought you with us to give you a good time, and it seems that you might respect our wishes a little. No one can catch fish with a regular gab-fest going on on the bank.”
“Go along and don’t bother us,” admonished Dorothy.
At that instant her floater began to bob fiercely up and down. There was a strong tug on her line, and the reel began to revolve at a high rate of speed, as Mr. Fish, evidently aware that in snapping what appeared to be a nice, fat fly, he had gotten decidedly the worst of it, made a desperate effort to get away.
“Hold him!” cried Molly, rising on the bank and waving her arms excitedly.
“Oh, yes, hold him,” said the boys, exchanging glances of amusement.
“Hold him?” Dorothy gritted her teeth. “You just know I’ll hold him! We’ll show these young gentlemen that fish can be caught when there is noise on the bank. Oh, we’ll show them!”
The reel was revolving more slowly now, and before the end of the line was reached, had ceased altogether. Then the girl, a light of triumph in her eyes, began to wind in her prize. It was a slow task and a hard one, for when the denizen of the river found he had again encountered resistance, he renewed his struggle for freedom. Once he nearly jerked the girl off the bank into the water, greatly to the delight of Jim and Gerald, who had settled in a comfortable nook under the trees with the avowed intention of being “in at the finish.” That Dorothy would fail to land the fish they were quite sure, and to be on hand with a hearty laugh when her disappointment came, would in a measure atone for the trouble of bringing the girls on the trip.
Little by little the struggling fish was brought nearer, until, with a quick jerk of her pole, the girl lifted him clean of the water and swung him over her head to the shore.
So quickly did it happen that Jim was unable to get out of the way, and the fish, which was a three-pound trout, struck him squarely in the face, bowling him over in the grass, and causing him to drop the fishing tackle he was holding in his hands, long enough to brush the water from his eyes.
Now it was the girls’ turn to laugh, and they did not neglect the opportunity.
“Thought I couldn’t catch a fish, didn’t you, Jim Barlow?” cried Dorothy. “Well, I trust you now see the error of your judgment. I caught him, and you caught him, too, only you caught him where I didn’t – across the face.”
At this both girls burst out laughing again, and Gerald, no longer able to restrain himself, convulsed at the sight of Jim as he went tumbling backward with his eyes and nose full of water, was forced to join them. They laughed so loudly that Jim first smiled, then burst into a guffaw himself. He had been inclined to be angry at the humiliation imposed upon him by the fish, but now the ludicrous side of the affair appealed to him. He admitted that Dorothy had all the best of the argument and wound up by declaring that he intended trying his luck at the fish again.
Dorothy, in the meantime, had walked over and picked up her squirming catch, which she detached from the hook and dropped in the basket she had brought with her for that purpose.
“Here goes again!” she cried, and fastening a new fly on her line, she cast it far out into the stream. “Better hurry, you people, or I’ll have the record for the day.”
Gerald and Jim, thus admonished, began undoing their fishing tackle, and soon the quartet were fishing as if their lives depended on what they caught that afternoon. And the strangest part about it was that nobody – not even the girls – said a word! Silence reigned supreme. So, although Dorothy had triumphed in showing the boys the folly of keeping absolutely silent, the boys had also won their point in getting the girls so interested that neither cared to talk.
The fish began to bite with unusual frequency, and soon each member of the party had a fine string in the basket. Lunch was forgotten, so eager was each to beat the other’s record, and so nearly equal were the numbers of fish caught by each, they were afraid to stop to count them for fear they would be losing valuable time.
But finally, when the declining sun told them that the afternoon would soon be gone, with the pangs of hunger gnawing at their stomachs, a general agreement caused all to wind in their lines.
The fish were counted and it was seen that Dorothy had made the best record with seventeen trout of various sizes. Gerald came a close second, having sixteen, while Molly and Jim followed in the order named with fourteen and twelve respectively.
Lunch was eaten – or rather devoured, for they were ravenously hungry – in the shade of the big trees on the bank before preparations were made for the return to camp.
“Wish those fish were up the mountain,” sighed Jim.
“Oh, it will be easy to carry them,” said Molly.
“Yes; easy for you, because Gerald and I will have to carry all you’ve caught as well as our own.”
“How clever of you to guess that,” Dorothy said, laughing. “You’re a bright boy, Jim.”
“Yes; a little too bright sometimes,” he returned. “Next time I come fishing I hope I shall be bright enough not to invite you girls.”
“You did not invite us; we invited ourselves,” said Molly with some spirit.
“And they should be well satisfied,” said Dorothy. “If it had not been for us they would have gone back to camp before the fish commenced to bite, and then we would have had none.”
“Pooh, pooh!” said Jim.
“And again pooh, pooh!” said Gerald.
Then, without further ado, the boys picked up their loads and the climb back to the camp was begun.
They reached their destination tired from the exertion of the climb and generally weary from the day’s strenuous outing, but soon the odor of fried fish made them glad they had taken the trip and that the results had been so satisfying.
CHAPTER VIII
THE JOURNEY HOME
The next few days passed quickly to the campers, who were loath for the time to approach when they would have to “pull up stakes” for the return to Baltimore.
Among the excursions following the fishing trip, was another of a similar nature, participated in alone by Jim and Gerald. But as the results were considerably less than on the day the girls had accompanied them, there was a hearty laugh at the boys’ expense when they returned to camp. This they accepted good-naturedly, however.
At one time or another the whole face of the mountain was explored, many curious things being discovered. Among them was a cave of large extent, where stalactites and stalagmites abounded in great profusion. Many were broken off to be taken back home as mementoes of the trip.
Nothing further had been heard from James Haley and Sheriff Dundon, and during the last few days in camp Len was allowed to show himself, though he did not venture far from the tents, fearing to take a risk that might be the means of placing him again in captivity.
By the time the day for departure came, the lad had won his way into the hearts of everyone. Aunt Betty and Dorothy were so taken with his winning manners and extreme good nature that they already regarded him as a protégé, and were planning how he was to be trained for the future, and given a thorough business education.
When the plan was mentioned to Len he fell into the spirit of it with an alacrity that astonished them. His resolve to make something of himself was a commendable one and showed the proper appreciation for their efforts.
On the morning which marked the end of their two weeks’ stay, the boys began to gather up the camping paraphernalia which was packed in the rear chest and under the seats of the automobile.
After a short conference between the campers, it was decided that to best enjoy their last day, the afternoon should be spent running about over the mountains in the machine. The journey home would then be made by moonlight, Gerald having won Aunt Betty’s consent to “speed her up.” He promised that they should all be home and in bed shortly after midnight.
“Oh, dear, dear!” moaned Aunt Betty. “I see I’m in for it. Why did I ever let you persuade me to become a party to this speed mania, Gerald Blank?”
“Don’t ask me why, Mrs. Calvert,” Gerald responded, laughing; “I only know that you did. I have your promise, remember! And,” he added, dramatically, “a Calvert never goes back on a promise.”
“Oh, yes; you have my promise, but I’m sorry I gave it.”
“She’ll be glad she promised, when she sees how easy the big Ajax covers ground,” said Jim, winking at his chum.
“I think the ride back to Baltimore by moonlight will be ideal,” said Molly, rapturously.
“Isn’t it strange to think that here we are over sixty miles from home, not planning to start until the moon is up, yet will be home and in bed by midnight?” said Aurora.
“Pshaw! That’s nothing,” cried Gerald. “It’s mere play for this big Ajax. Why, I could easily do the sixty miles in a little over an hour if Aunt Betty – ”
“Mercy!” screamed Aunt Betty. “In a little over an hour? Gerald, if you don’t stop that silly talk, I shall sit myself down under one of these trees and refuse to budge an inch.”
“Oh, you don’t know how nice it is to ride fast, Aunt Betty,” said Dorothy; “to feel the wind fairly blowing the hair off your head; the landscape flashing past so rapidly one can scarcely see it, and to know that – ”
“Stop, Dorothy Calvert! You shall not tempt me. I’m too old to acquire such habits, and if Gerald lets his car get beyond a fair rate of speed during our journey home, I shall leap out into the ditch. Then just think how badly you all will feel.”
But the boys only grinned at this, and resumed their work of taking down the tents.
Soon everything was packed in the machine but enough food for their mid-day lunch, which was eaten under the shade of the trees.
When the time to leave came at last, no one seemed happier or more eager than Len Haley. An instinctive fear seemed to possess the lad that his uncle would be prowling about the mountains and apprehend him when he least expected it; hence, to go flying away to Baltimore in a big automobile was to him the acme of delight.
The early afternoon was spent at the camp, but about four o’clock, when the sun was on the decline, and the shadows in the valley had commenced to lengthen, Gerald, at the wheel of the big Ajax, sent the machine slowly across the plateau toward the eastern mountain.
As the car moved along the girls burst into a song, and a moment later Jim and Gerald joined in. For a few moments they fairly made the welkin ring. Then as the machine was plunging down a steep descent the concert came to an abrupt end, and the inmates clutched the rails to keep from pitching forward.
Up around the side of the east mountain the auto then climbed slowly, seeming to exert itself very little for the performance of so difficult a task.
Shortly after sundown, they went spinning down into the valley to the hotel where they had stopped for the night on their trip to the mountains two weeks before.
The landlord had apparently forgotten that this was the party who had feasted on the good things he had set before them, greatly to his discomfiture; for now he put himself out to serve them a fine supper.
And everyone was hungry! Cold meats, bread, fresh country butter, and milk, with iced tea for those who desired it, and strawberry jelly and chocolate cake for dessert, made a bill of fare tempting enough to suit the most fastidious member of the party.
With the supply of gasoline replenished, both in the regular and reserve tanks, with the moon peeping over the undulating land to the eastward, shedding its brilliant rays over farm and road, the party left the village hotel for the run back to Baltimore.
Aunt Betty sat sternly in the big rear seat, with Dorothy on one side and Aurora on the other, her bonnet held firmly in place by a large veil, her lips tightly compressed in prospect of the fast ride Gerald had promised was to come. She had little to say. In her heart was a nameless dread – had been, in fact, since Gerald won her consent to allow him to run at a faster pace on the return trip.
The highways in this part of Maryland were all that could be desired, and Gerald was not long in fulfilling part of his promise. Knowing that something over half way to their destination there was for several miles a bad stretch of road, he wished to even matters by making good time until the rough spots were reached.
It was nearly nine o’clock now, and as the auto gathered speed, Aunt Betty gave a little gasp, then looked at Dorothy and bravely smiled. Gradually Gerald let the car out until she was doing fully forty miles an hour. This could be kept up only on the smooth level stretches which they encountered every now and then. In climbing the hills, the car did not average over eight. The streams of light from the gas lamps made a wobbly path in the darkness when occasionally clouds blew across the sky, obscuring the moon.
The car made very little noise. In fact, the low hum of the engine, and swish of the tires along the smooth roadway, were all that met their ears as they went flying up hill and down dale, past farmhouses and over bridges. The great highway seemed deserted save for an occasional farm wagon, which turned quickly to one side when its occupant saw their rapidly approaching lamps.
Gerald was very considerate of horses, knowing that many animals were unused to automobiles, hence were liable to become frightened at the slightest provocation.
Through the villages the speed was slackened to not more than ten miles an hour. Very few of the places had electric lights, hence Gerald was forced to depend entirely upon the moon and his lamps for guidance through crooked streets. At times they passed little groups of people, come out from nearby houses to watch them go by; at others they were chased for long distances by yelping dogs, who snapped at the wheels and in other ways tried to show their supreme contempt for a vehicle driven without horses.
Aunt Betty soon grew used to the bursts of speed, and before they were half way to Baltimore she was breathing freely once more, conscious of the fact that in Gerald the big auto had a good pilot, and convinced that did the occasion demand it, the car could be brought to a standstill within its own length.
“I believe I like it when you ‘speed her up,’ as you say,” she finally admitted, greatly to Gerald’s delight. “I hope I shan’t develop a mania for speeding, however, as that would necessitate my buying a car – something which I don’t feel able to do just at present.”
“I shouldn’t allow you to buy one,” said Dorothy, a note of authority in her voice that caused a laugh from the others.
“Humph! Talks like she rules the ranch,” said Jim.
“Well, maybe I do, Mr. Smarty,” replied the girl. “One thing I am quite sure of —you don’t!”
“Come, children; neither of you rule the ranch,” Aunt Betty intervened. “I rule it and expect to do so for an indefinite period.”
“See!” Jim cried, tauntingly. “Told you so! Told you so!”
Dorothy aimed a playful blow at him, but he dodged and caught her arm in a vise-like grip, refusing to let go until she had promised to be a good girl.
At ten-fifteen they passed through a village which Gerald said was the half-way mark between Baltimore and the South Mountains.
“We have rather a bad stretch of road ahead, however,” he told them, “so for the next half hour it will be slower going. But wait till we strike the graveled county road this side of Baltimore. Then we’ll make up some of our lost time.”
But somehow this did not interest Aunt Betty. She was talking with the girls and apparently felt not the slightest tremor at the thought of going at a faster pace – a change that Dorothy noticed and commented on with no little delight.
Just when Gerald was congratulating himself that the roughest part of the trip was over, the front tire on the left exploded with a bang that brought a scream from every feminine inmate of the car.
Molly, who was nearest the noise, promptly threw her arms around Gerald’s neck, and clung there as if her very life depended on it.
It was with considerable difficulty that the boy retained the presence of mind to stop the car. But he did so immediately, then gave himself up to the task of releasing Molly’s arms. When he had succeeded, he kissed her on the lips, greatly to her amazement and chagrin, for the others, recovered from their momentary scare, laughed heartily.
“Gerald Blank!” she cried. “I’ll never, never forgive you for that!”
“Well, seeing you came so near capsizing us by your affectionate embrace of the chauffeur, the latter individual is surely entitled to some reward for his valued services – particularly as he will now have to detain the party some ten or fifteen minutes while he does a little real hard labor.”
He jumped quickly out of the machine and going around to the left front wheel, examined the exploded tire. It was perfectly flat.
“Yes;” he repeated, “this means a little work.”
“That was hard luck, Gerald,” said Dorothy, “particularly when you were trying to make a record run.”
“Yes; it’s the first trouble we’ve had with the machine since starting on our trip. But this is really a simple matter, Dorothy.”
“Oh, I’m so glad of that.”
“I shall still have the satisfaction of putting you into Bellvieu in time to be in bed by twelve – and we may even shade that time a little. Come, Jim! Get that jack out of the tool chest, and help me hoist this wheel off the ground. You’d better bring the pump, also, and we’ll see how long it will take you and Ephy to inflate a tire of this size.”
Jim and Ephraim both sprang to Gerald’s aid. Soon the jack was under the wheel, where it required but a moment to raise the machine until the wheel was clear of the ground.
Then Gerald removed the punctured tire, pulled out the inner tube, and proceeded to put the new one in its place. With the tire back on the rim again, he attached the end of the pump to the air tube with astonishing swiftness, and Jim began at once to force the ozone into the rubber. Tiring after a few moments, he gave way to Ephraim, while Gerald, his hand on the tire, waited until it was sufficiently hard to carry the weight of the machine. Then he gave the signal to stop pumping.
Another moment sufficed to lower the wheel onto the ground, and to put the tools back in the chest. Then Gerald and his helpers crawled into the machine and the big car started off as if nothing had happened. The whole affair had not taken over ten minutes.
“I had no idea punctures were so easily remedied,” said Aunt Betty. “Somehow, I have always dreaded the thought of being in an automobile away from the city when a tire blew up. But, aside from the noise, there seem to be no disagreeable features.”
“Would be if you didn’t happen to have an extra inner tube along,” said Jim.
Gerald nodded.
“You’re right. The idea is always to have one.”
“But what would you do if you hadn’t?” asked Dorothy.
“It would be necessary to find the hole in the punctured tube and stop it up with cement.”
“And then you would have to wait hours for it to dry, I suppose?”
“No; only a few minutes. There is a preparation something like putty which you force into the puncture, and which dries in a very few minutes. Of course, a tire fixed in this way would never be considered as satisfactory as a new inner tube, yet they have been known to go many miles without the slightest trouble. In fact, you are more apt to get a new puncture, than to have the patch give out.”
Time passed so quickly as the big machine shot along the level highway at a rapid pace that no one realized their whereabouts until Aunt Betty cried suddenly:
“Oh, look over there! Those must be the Northern Lights.”
Her hand was extended toward a brilliant glare which lit up the sky as the moon went behind a heavy cloud.
“The Northern Lights, and in the east!” cried Dorothy. “Oh, Aunt Betty!”
“As I live that is the east! Why, I’m all turned around. Then what are those lights, my dear?”
“Baltimore, of course, you dear auntie.”
“So soon? Why, it seems as if we have been out barely two hours.”
“And we have been out but a very little more,” said Jim, looking at his watch. “It is only eleven o’clock and it was a few minutes to nine when we left the hotel. Another half hour will put us to the gates of Bellvieu, eh, Gerald?”
“Surely,” was the response, delivered in an “I-told-you-so” tone.
Gradually they began to encounter more vehicles, the majority of which seemed to be traveling toward the city.
“Strange those wagons are all going that way,” said Aurora.
“Nothing so strange about it,” said Jim. “Most of them are lumber wagons filled with country produce, such as vegetables, eggs and fruit. They leave the farms early in the night so as to be on hand at the Baltimore market when it opens for business in the morning.”
On they flew at a high speed, the lights ahead becoming brighter and brighter. Soon an electric light burst before their vision off to the right, then another, and another, until they realized that they were, indeed, in the outskirts of Baltimore.
Gerald ran the car more slowly now, for city ordinances are very strict, imposing a low limit on the speed of autos when within the confines of a municipality. Gerald had never been fined for speeding since coming into possession of an auto, and he had made up his mind that he never would be.
Through the shopping district they went, and into a brilliantly-lighted residence street, thence into smaller, narrower streets as Gerald turned the big Ajax toward the shore of the bay.
Then old Bellvieu, lying dark and silent in the moonlight, a single light twinkling from the servants’ quarters in the rear, burst upon their view. The car ran quickly along the hedge and stopped before the gate.
Gerald looked at his watch.
“It is just eleven-thirty,” he said. “I have the honor to report that I have beaten the time I suggested by several minutes – enough to give you time to unload your things and get to bed before the clock strikes twelve.”
Jim and Ephraim grabbed the baskets out of the big chest in the rear, while Aunt Betty and the girls seized their other belongings. Then, bidding Gerald and Aurora good night, with many thanks for the nice time they had had in the new car, they went up the pathway toward the house.
Chloe, Dinah and Metty had heard their voices, and with shouts of delight had begun to light up the mansion. By the time the party reached the gallery the big house looked as inviting as one could wish.
How soft and fine the beds seemed that night to each one of the tired camping party, for no matter how enjoyable a time they had had, they were forced to admit that there was no place like home.
