The Grammar School Boys Snowbound

H >> H. Irving Hancock >> The Grammar School Boys Snowbound

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"You wouldn't live in a tent, at this time of the year, would you?"

"If we had to," assented young Holmes. "What we were talking about was
building some kind of a shack in the woods somewhere."

"Rather a bad time of the year for building operations," smiled Lawyer
Ripley dryly.

"But this wouldn't be so very much of an operation, sir," urged Greg.
"Now that we've sixty dollars between us, we ought to be able to buy
enough lumber to put up quite a shanty."

"Yes; and probably have enough money left to pay for the teaming of the
lumber a few miles," agreed the man of law. "But there wouldn't be
enough to pay the carpenters."

"We might be able to build a small shack ourselves," proposed Tom Reade.

"Why, so you might," admitted the lawyer, half smiling. "However, any
task that is worth doing is much better done by one used to that kind of
work. When do you want to go camping?"

"Why, right after to-morrow, Christmas," replied Dick. "We could stay in
the woods, if our parents let us go, until about the end of the present
vacation."

"It would take you at least that length of time to build the shack, I
should think," suggested the lawyer. "Until you had it built you might
have to wrap up in the snow at night for your sleep. And, then, when you
had it all built, you would discover that the shack didn't belong to
you, but to the owner of the land on which you built it. He could order
you away from the shack if he were so disposed."

"I hadn't thought of that," admitted Greg, looking crestfallen.

"I'm afraid we won't camp," spoke up Harry Hazelton.

"The greatest difficulty," suggested the lawyer, "would be getting the
consent of your parents to any such madcap scheme as going off into the
woods to camp, day after day, in mid-winter."

"There might be some difficulty about that, sir," replied Prescott. "But
now it looks as though the one really big problem would be to get a camp
on the money that we now have, and to be ready to go into it in season
during this school vacation."

"That would really be but a very slight difficulty," rejoined the
lawyer.

"I wish I could see how you make that out, sir."

"Why, as it happens, in the property that Mrs. Dexter's grandfather left
her there's the strip called Hobson's woods, you know. The forest is a
pretty big affair. In fact, it's what's generally called wild country.
But there are a thousand acres of the woods, worth about four dollars
an acre, that now belong to Mrs. Dexter. She authorized me to find a
buyer for that bit of the forest, but it seems to be out of the
question. Now, on Mrs. Dexter's land, in about the middle of it, and
less than two hundred feet off the main trail, is one of the few real
old log cabins left in this part of the United States. The cabin is in
pretty good repair, too, I fancy, for Mrs. Dexter's grandfather used to
do logging out that way. Later in his life, when he had amassed money,
the old gentleman used to go out to that cabin to live for a while, two
or three times in every year. The place was in excellent repair when he
died. It is still, I imagine."

There was a breathless silence as the lawyer ceased speaking. How the
thought of that log cabin, out in the deep forest, appealed to the
imaginations of such Grammar School boys as these!

"Well, sir?" asked Greg breathlessly, at last.

"Young men, if your parents should consent to your going on such a wild,
madcap picnic in mid-winter, I would let you have the use of that cabin.
But you may have the use of the cabin at any other time, as long as the
cabin remains in Mrs. Dexter's name, so I would suggest your going in
the spring or summer."

"Oh, pshaw!" leaped to Greg Holmes's lips, but he choked back the
exclamation. What use would boys have for a log cabin in summer, when
there was a chance to use it in mid-winter? Besides, the summer seemed a
long way off.

"Is there any water near the cabin, Mr. Ripley?" asked Tom Reade, who
possessed a practical head in such matters.

"Yes; a spring, within perhaps twenty or thirty feet of the doorway,"
nodded the lawyer. "Inside the cabin is one of the big, old-fashioned
fire-places----"

"O-o-oh! A-a-ah!" gasped the youngsters in chorus.

"There are also eight bunks in the place, each with a straw or dry-leaf
mattress," continued Mr. Ripley. "There are table and chairs, hand made
and of the crudest kind, and some few tools."

"Say, wouldn't that make an ideal camp?" demanded Dick Prescott, turning
to his chums, his eyes glowing.

All their faces were flushed with the excitement of the thing. Now that
it was so close, and practical, all the boys of Dick & Co. felt a wild
desire to be up and away for camp at once.

"And you say we may have the cabin, sir, and the right to cut some
firewood in the forest?" Dick asked.

"I said you could, if you had your parents' full and free permission to
go," replied Lawyer Ripley. "That, I fancy, is a very different thing."

"But if we get that permission, sir," urged Dick, "and come back and
tell you so, then you will let us----"

"If you get home permission, you won't need to come back to me at all,"
replied Lawyer Ripley, smiling, as he rose. "Just go and help yourselves
to the cabin and what few improvements it contains. But I am afraid,
boys, you are going to be very much disappointed if you expect that your
parents will consent. I think it very unlikely that you'll get any such
permission. I will send your thanks to Mrs. Dexter, and will also tell
her what I have told you about the use of the camp. As to-morrow will be
Christmas, I shall not be back here to-day. If you go camping,
boys--which I don't believe you will--don't burn the old cabin down
unless you find it necessary in order to keep warm enough."

As Lawyer Ripley now made it plain that he was about to leave, the boys
hastily repeated their thanks and left the office.

Not until they got down into the street did any of them feel like
speaking.

"Say, fellows, if that isn't the grandest----" suddenly blazed forth
Greg.

"It's all right," nodded Tom.

"I'm going camping, if I can get any of you fellows to go with me,"
announced Dave Darrin.

"If your folks will let you, you mean," interrupted Hazelton.

"They will," Dave contended. "And so will yours, Dick."

"I--I hope so," sighed Dick, his eyes dancing. "I never before in my
life wanted to do anything as much as I now want to go camping."

"With the still woods, all snow-covered!" cried Dan enthusiastically.

"And the cold nights, with the great fire roaring up the chimney!"
supplied Greg.

"And some hunting!"

"And the jolly fun of cooking our own food!"

These youngsters, as they hurried along the street, were in grave danger
of being lost in the depths of their own excitement.

"Say, I wonder if there'd be any fishing out there--through the ice?"
demanded Harry Hazelton.

"There'd be some rabbit hunting, anyway," supplied Dan.

"If we can only get leave to go!" groaned Greg anxiously.

"See here, fellows," muttered Dick, halting suddenly. "We've simply got
to get that leave from our parents!"

"But how?" challenged Dan.

"That's what we've got to think out right now. And, by hookey! I believe
I have an idea. Fellows, we have ten dollars apiece."

"My mother will say that I must put that in bank," grunted Dan.

"Wait! Of course, with ten dollars apiece, we've got to consult our
parents as to how the money is to be spent," Dick went on. "Now, that is
a matter that will call for a little diplomacy. Some of what our
principal, Old Dut, calls 'finish'--no, '_finesse_.'"

"What's that?" Dan wanted to know.

"Oh, it's a Latin or a Greek word, or something of the sort, meaning to
put a fine edge on a piece of business," Dick explained tranquilly.
"What I mean is this, fellows: Each one of us will go home and show the
money to his father--his father only. Then each one of us will ask
permission to spend five dollars of the money on a present for his
mother, to be given to her to-morrow morning as a surprise. Then we'll
ask our dads for leave to use the other five dollars towards
provisioning our camp. Fellows, if you go about it the right way, I'm
sure you can each get leave for the camping expedition! I feel just
about sure on my own account."

"But how about our mothers?" inquired Dan dubiously.

"Don't you think the present will smooth the way with the mothers?"
laughed Dave Darrin.

"It ought to," smiled Tom Reade.

"Don't you think we could get our mothers something pretty nice with two
dollars apiece?" asked Harry Hazelton speculatively.

"I couldn't get anything nice enough for my mother with two dollars,
when I have more money," Dick replied promptly.

Hazelton's money-saving plan was promptly voted down.

"So now," proposed Dick, "all we have to do is to hurry home and hustle!
Beat your way to it, fellows!"

"Hurrah!" Greg gasped.

Hurrying along Main Street, through the crowds of Christmas shoppers,
the Grammar School boys were on the point of parting, to go their
several ways homeward, when they came upon a scene that halted them.

More than two dozen people, mostly women, had gathered around a
shabby-looking man who was clutching wildly at a lamp post, and yet
seemed in momentary danger of falling. His lips were thickly covered
with foam, his eyes glaring, and the fellow was talking wildly, in low
tones, as though to himself.

"Come away and leave him. He's intoxicated," announced one woman
shrilly.

"He's not intoxicated," responded another matron indignantly. "There is
no odor of liquor about the poor man. And drunken men don't froth at the
mouth. This poor fellow is ill--very ill. It must be a fit--maybe
epilepsy. Some of you women who have a little more brains and heart than
others help me to take this poor fellow to the drug store."

There were willing hands enough, now, among the women. Three or four
tried to take hold of the sufferer at once. That victim of an unknown
malady clutched and gripped at the good Samaritans as they tried to
steer him along the street toward the drug store. To hold him up was all
four women could do together, so progress along the street was slow
indeed.

"Here comes Dr. Bentley in his auto. Stop him, some one!"

The doctor quickly ran his car in toward the curb and leaped out. A fine
man and a busy physician, Dr. Bentley was never too much occupied to
stop and help an unfortunate man.

Dr. Bentley's big frame and broad shoulders loomed up in the crowd.

"Let me have the man on one side," urged the doctor. "One of you ladies
might help hold him on the other side."

"What's the matter with the man, doctor?" cried several.

"Really, ladies, I can't tell until I've had a chance to examine the
man. It may be a fit of some sort. I think likely it is. But we will get
him to the drug store first, and into the back room. Then I can examine
the poor chap comfortably."

Though seemingly "out of his head," the sufferer succeeded in throwing
his arms about a great deal.

Then, suddenly, Dick, who had been following and watching with wide-open
eyes, called out lustily:

"Dr. Bentley, your overcoat is open, your chain is hanging with no watch
on it, and your scarf pin is gone!"

That announcement electrified the situation. Dr. Bentley glanced down
swiftly, then threw one hand up to his necktie.

"My purse is gone from my chatelaine!" cried one of the women who had
been helping.

"My purse is gone, too!"

It was amazing to see how quickly the sufferer from the fit galvanized
into action. He straightened up suddenly, gave himself a violent wrench
and shook himself free of those who had sought to aid him.

With a bound the fellow was off and away. As he sprang he spat from his
mouth the piece of soap that had supplied the foam to his lips.

"Catch him, fellows!" yelled Dick.

But only Tom and young Prescott were near enough to the path of flight.
Tom Reade leaped valiantly in, but was shoved off and sent spinning by
one of the burly fists of the rough.

It was up to Dick to make the catch.

Dick had his skates, strapped together, swinging from his right wrist.
He swung the skates back to strike at the fugitive. Ere he could do it
the man drove a big, hammer-like fist straight between Dick Prescott's
eyes in a way that sent that boy down like a log.

The impact of that blow was heard by all.

CHAPTER III

THE CAMPAIGN TO COAX PARENTS

In another moment the fleeing one had darted around the corner.

Five members of Dick & Co., angry all the way through, were the first to
reach that corner.

"There he goes, down the alley-way to the livery stable!" roared Dave
Darrin. "After him, fellows!"

But by the time that the five reached the stable yard the fugitive was
out of sight. Men hurried up, and a quick search was made of the
neighborhood. It was soon certain, however, that the fellow had made
good use of his time and had gotten away. Two policemen who were among
the latest arrivals on the scene gave it as their opinion that further
chase would be worse than useless.

So Dick's chums turned back, to see how their leader had fared.

Dr. Bentley was leaning over the boy, who, white and lifeless, lay at
the edge of the sidewalk.

"Take him to the drug store, doctor," urged one of the women.

"He'll revive quicker in the open air, madam," answered the physician.

"Is young Prescott very badly hurt?"

"I can't tell yet," said Dr. Bentley. "There doesn't seem to be any
fracture of the bone at the point where he was struck. And the back of
his head seems to be sound and whole. I think Master Dick is simply
stunned."

Dr. Bentley stepped over to his auto, took out a drug case and selected
a vial from it.

"Get me a glass of water, someone, and promptly," he directed.

The water was quickly brought. After pouring a few drops from the vial
into it, the medical man supported Dick's head and poured some of the
stuff into his mouth.

After a short time Dick opened his eyes.

"Wh-what kicked me?" he asked slowly.

"The fist of that gentleman with soap-made fits," replied the physician
dryly. "Take a few deep breaths, Prescott. Now, a little more from the
glass. Breathe hard again. There, do you feel as though you'd like to
get on your feet?"

"Certainly," Dick replied.

Dr. Bentley helped him to his feet, supporting him and urging him to try
to walk a little. At about this time Dave and the others returned at a
trot.

"Dick, I guess you saved some of us from losing more in the way of
valuables," smiled the medical man grimly. "For one, I'm ashamed of
myself. A man who has been practising medicine more than twenty years
should know too much to be taken in by sham fits on the part of a thief
who plays his trick in order to rob a crowd of Christmas shoppers."

"You think he meant to rob us, then, doctor?" pressed a woman in the
crowd.

"That fellow certainly did mean to do it," replied Dr. Bentley with
emphasis. "It's an old trick in a crowd--this sort of sham sickness."

"And he got all my Christmas money--every cent of it--and carried it off
with him!" wailed one woman, who looked as though she could not afford
to lose much money.

"He snatched my locket with the diamond in it!" vengefully exclaimed
another woman, exhibiting the broken ends of a neck chain.

"My purse is gone. I had forty-two dollars in it."

"I didn't get off very lightly, ladies," replied Dr. Bentley. "My scarf
pin wasn't so extremely valuable, but I feel badly about the watch, and
I shall feel worse when I realize its loss more fully. That was my
father's watch, and I valued it above money."

"The police ought to catch that scoundrel," declared one of the women
losers.

"Of course they ought," cried another. "If they don't catch the thief
what good are the police, anyway?"

"I don't care much about their finding him, unless they also find my
forty-two dollars on him," mournfully proclaimed another of the losers.

"I am sorry for you, ladies. I don't deserve any sympathy, or very
little, for myself. Well, as the scoundrel has gotten away, and as young
Prescott is growing stronger, I shall go on my way to other patients who
need me."

Dick was still rather dizzy and weak, but Dave's right arm supported
him.

"Does your head ache?" inquired Greg.

"Guess," advised Dick dryly.

As the two policemen had given up looking for the fugitive, and had gone
back to their posts, the crowd was melting. It was nearly noon, and most
people on the streets were moving homeward.

"Guess you won't have a large appetite for the coming meal," observed
Tom Reade to Dick. "Whew! What a crack that sounded like when the
scoundrel struck you! It must have jarred away some of your appetite."

"I can't tell about that until I try to eat," Dick answered.

"No matter whether you eat much or not, but you want to be sure to ask
your mother for two cups of strong coffee with your dinner," advised
Darrin, with all the readiness of the amateur physician.

"I guess I'll go home, fellows," announced Dick, as the noon whistles
blew. "I advise the rest of you to hustle, too. Remember what you've got
to spring on your fathers when you get home. We want to have the whole
thing settled when we meet this afternoon. Try to put it through, all of
you, won't you?"

"I'm going to see you as far as your door, Dick, old fellow," Dave
insisted.

"Oh, I'll be feeling fine in another hour," Dick protested. "It just
knocked my senses for a minute or two."

Shortly after one o'clock the chums gathered again on Main Street. Dick
now looked as keen as ever, and his eyes were shining.

"It's all settled for me," he announced. "I can go camping."

"So can I," Dave reported with satisfaction.

"Dad almost as good as said I could go," Tom declared. "He'll agree to
it by to-night."

"How about you, Dan?" queried Dick.

"I can go--_not_," groaned Dalzell.

"I hope to go," announced Greg. "All I could get out of my father was
that he was in a rush, but that he'd talk it over with me to-morrow and
let me know what he had to say."

Hazelton admitted that he was in the same plight, as to a delayed
decision, but he did not speak as though he were very hopeful of being
permitted to go.

"It'll just be a shame if we can't all go," Dave declared seriously. "It
won't be a quarter as much fun unless we have the whole crowd."

"Say, watch that slim, well-dressed fellow with the brown derby,"
whispered Hazelton. "See him coming along behind the two women. I'm sure
I saw him, earlier this morning, talking with the same fit-thrower that
bumped Dick."

"Humph! So did I," muttered Dick. "I remember. This slim fellow was with
a short, thick-set man with a black moustache."

"Right!" nodded Harry.

"They must all be members of the same gang of thieves, then," flashed
Dick. "I've read in the newspapers that the thieves who work the
Christmas trade generally go in gangs. By crackey! Did you see that?"

"Yes!" muttered Tom Reade excitedly.

"What?" questioned Greg.

"Why," explained Dick, "Mr. Slim put his hand in a woman's skirt pocket.
He slipped a wallet from her pocket to his."

"That's what he did," nodded Tom.

"Come along," urged Dick. "We'll see if we can come across a policeman
before Mr. Slim gets all the money in the town."

Falling in by twos the Grammar School boys, full of excitement, trailed
after the slim, neatly dressed thief.

Two blocks lower down the boys ran across Policeman Whalen, who, in
citizen's clothes, had been turned out to watch for thieves.

In an undertone Dick called attention to the slim fellow, who was still
moving along in the moving crowds of shopping women. Whalen cautiously
took up the trail, while Dick & Co. fell back somewhat.

Two minutes later Whalen made a sudden leap forward, seizing the
suspected young man by the coat collar.

"Stand by, till I shake ye down!" roared the policeman, thrashing the
thief about until the slim one's teeth chattered. A small morocco purse
fell to the sidewalk.

"Why, that's mine!" cried a woman.

"I know it, ma'am. I saw this spalpeen take it from your pocket," nodded
Policeman Whalen. "Come along with me, lad! And ye come, too, ma'am, and
claim your pocketbook."

"Oh, I'm so glad you saw him do it," quivered the young woman, her face
white from the shock caused by the thought of losing her Christmas
money.

"I wouldn't have seen him do it," admitted Whalen honestly, "only Dick
Prescott called my attention to the spalpeen."

The prisoner, who realized that he could not twist himself away from the
strong clutch of the policeman, scowled at Dick as the young woman
thanked him.

A crowd formed in an instant, but Whalen broke up the excitement by
starting promptly along with his captive.

Dick & Co. turned and followed a little way. The crowd that kept in the
wake of the policeman was soon a dense one.

"You'll be sorry for this, youngster!" growled a low, angry voice just
behind Dick.

Like a flash Prescott wheeled. It was not plain, however, who, in all
that throng, had spoken to him. But Dick's roving gaze soon made out,
several yards away, a man in brown, wearing a gray overcoat. The fellow
was marching along with the throng as though he, too, were an idle
spectator.

"That's the fit-thrower's other friend," flashed through Dick's mind.
"He must have been the fellow who spoke behind me just now, too."

"Oh, let's not go any further," proposed Tom Reade. "We've seen folks
arrested before this."

"Come along," said Dick shortly, not caring to explain his reasons just
at this moment.

So the chums kept on in the wake of the crowd. A block further on a
uniformed policeman stepped forward to have a look at Whalen's prisoner.

"Moll-buzzer," explained Policeman Whalen briefly to his brother of the
force. A "moll-buzzer" is a thief who robs women in crowds.

The uniformed policeman fell back and the crowd moved forward, but Dick
seized the second policeman's coat sleeve.

"There's another of the gang," whispered Dick, pointing to the
black-moustached man in the gray overcoat.

"Are you sure?" demanded officer number two.

"Positive," whispered Dick. "At least, we saw them talking together
early this morning."

At this moment the man in the gray overcoat turned. He saw Dick and the
policeman talking in low tones. Without waiting an instant the man in
the gray overcoat darted forward, trying to break through the crowd.

"Grab him!" shouted the policeman.

Three or four men moved closer to obey.

"Look out!" yelled some one frantically. "He's got a pistol."

The citizen helpers drew away quickly at that information, but the delay
had been enough to enable the policeman to close in on his man. With his
locust stick the officer struck down the pistol hand and snatched away
the weapon. An instant later two prisoners were marching toward the
police station, the second one having been taken only on suspicion.

"Bully for you, Dick Prescott!" cried Grocer Smith, laying a heavy but
approving hand across Dick's shoulders.

"Oh, we all recognized the pair," Prescott answered modestly. "They were
together this morning, and the fit-thrower was with them."

"You boys will be sorry for making unfounded charges of this sort,"
called back the black-moustached prisoner angrily. "Wait and see if
you're not."

"Cut out the gloom, man!" ordered the uniformed policeman, giving his
captive a twist that hurt. "Don't be trying to frighten small boys."

At the station house the crowd hung about outside.

"Going inside, Dick!" asked Dave eagerly.

"No one has asked us to. I guess we'd better wait out here unless we're
invited inside."

The young woman, whose pocketbook had been taken, went inside. She
identified her property and made a charge against the pick-pocket. Both
prisoners again heard the name of Dick Prescott mentioned.

The crowd melted after a little. Later the two prisoners were taken
before Justice Lee. Mr. Slim was sent away for six months on the charge
of pocket picking. The thick set captive in the gray overcoat, because
he could not give a good account of himself, was sentenced to ninety
days in the workhouse for vagrancy. Police and court were determined to
do all in their power to protect the Christmas shoppers.

* * * * *

"Now, as to our camping plans," Dick resumed, a little later in the
afternoon. "You fellows who aren't yet sure that you can get leave to
go, will have to keep right on the trail until that permission is given.
You can say that some of us are going, and that may help you some at
home."

"It may help the rest," suggested Dan Dalzell mournfully, "but nothing
will do me any good. I'm dished. No camping out in winter is going to
come my way."

"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure," urged Dick. "But, at least, you can be
sure you won't go if you don't try some more coaxing."

"Say, you come and do the coaxing yourself to-night, when dad is home,"
begged Dan.

"I will, if you think it will do any good, Danny," Prescott agreed.

"At any rate, your little speech can't put the matter any further back
than it stands right now," Dalzell declared. "And, oh, dear! I do want
so badly to go with you fellows! I never wanted anything as much
before."

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