The Grammar School Boys Snowbound
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H. Irving Hancock >> The Grammar School Boys Snowbound
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"Say, we'll all go together, early this evening," proposed Dick, his
eyes now snapping. "We'll call in a body at the house of each fellow who
hasn't yet secured leave to go on the winter camping party. We will all
present the case. Perhaps we can put it through for the whole six. If we
can't all go there won't be nearly as much fun."
Very soon, indeed, after supper, Dick & Co. were all assembled once
more.
"You won't need to go to my house," Tom explained triumphantly. "My
father says I can go and he has brought mother around to agree to it."
"Whose house shall we go to first, then?" asked Dick.
"Come to mine," begged Dan woefully.
So to the Dalzell home they went. The boys pleaded their case both with
Mr. and Mrs. Dalzell. Neither parent, however, would do more than say
that "they would see."
At Greg Holmes's house victory was quickly won, and Greg was happy. Next
Dick & Co. went in force to Harry Hazelton's home, where the coaxing was
renewed.
"I want to sleep over this scheme, Harry," said Mr. Hazelton finally,
"and I think your mother does, too. We don't want to see you miss any
good times that you really ought to have, so I think, if the rest are
going, we shall probably decide to let you go, too. But I won't say
'yes' to-night. I'll wait and see how the idea strikes me to-morrow."
"Oh, I guess you're fixed, all right, Harry," grunted Dan when the
Grammar School boys had filed out of the Hazelton house. "But--oh, poor
me!"
"And now, see here, fellows, we want to get around into the stores
before we lose any more time," suggested Dick. "We don't want to forget
that each fellow is to spend half his money in buying the best present
he can get for his mother."
"Do you think it will pay--in my case?" asked Dan dolefully.
"Shame on you, Danny boy!" growled Dave Darrin, giving Dalzell a sturdy
shaking.
"Was there ever a time that it didn't pay a fellow to remember his
mother whenever he had a chance?" demanded Dick. "If my mother had said
'no' and had stuck to it, I'd be mighty glad over being able to get her
a solid Christmas present just the same."
Within another hour the presents had been bought, the crowd sticking
together and giving collective advice for the benefit of each
individual.
Then Dick went home. Instead of passing through the store, where both
his parents were, he took out his key and made for the door that
admitted to the living rooms above. Over the knob was tacked a piece of
paper. Dick took it off and carried it upstairs with him, where, in the
light of the parlor, he read this message, in scrawling print:
"Wait and see if you ain't sorry!"
"This must be from the fit-thrower!" thought young Prescott, with an
inward jump.
He was soon to know.
CHAPTER IV
"REMEMBERED"--BY MR. FITS?
Through the night Dick slept as only an active, tired out boy can sleep.
If he woke once he had no recollection of it in the morning.
This, too, despite the fact that it was Christmas, and he had all of a
boy's natural desire to know what the day was to bring him.
Rat-tat-tat! sounded Mrs. Prescott's soft fist on Dick's bedroom door
that morning.
"Wake up, son!" Mrs. Prescott called for the second time.
"I--I'm awake," gasped Dick sleepily.
"Get up, then, son. Have you forgotten that this is Christmas?"
"No'm; I haven't." Dick's feet struck the floor heavily, and he reached
out for his clothing. "Merry Christmas, mother! Is dad there?"
"He's out in the kitchen, raking the fire. Don't you hear him?"
"Yes'm. Say, mother, have you seen your presents yet?"
"I found a handsome gold chain from your father on my bureau."
"Was that all you found?"
"Yes."
"Where did you look?" chuckled Dick.
"Why, on the parlor table, as usual, to be sure."
"Better look again, mother," laughed Dick.
By this time he was nearly dressed. He heard Mrs. Prescott going back
into the parlor.
"I don't find anything else here for me," Mrs. Prescott called back in a
puzzled voice.
"Mother, at this rate, you'll soon be needing specs," called Dick,
throwing open his bedroom door and looking out.
"But I don't see anything else for me, Richard," insisted his mother, as
the boy entered the parlor.
"Look again, mother. Surely, you----"
Then Dick halted suddenly, staring hard at the table, and at the mantel
beyond.
"Why, I left----" he began, and then looked more puzzled. At last he
grinned as the solution of the mystery came into his mind.
"It's just one of dad's jokes," he laughed. "Or else dad forgot. I gave
it to him last night, to lay on the table after you had gone to bed. You
see, mother, this is the first Christmas that I have had money of my own
with which to buy you something really nice. I'll ask dad where it is."
"Who's taking my name in vain?" called Mr. Prescott, as he came through
the hallway and looked in the parlor. "Merry Christmas, Dick."
"Same to you, sir. But, say, what happened to that little package I
handed you for mother?"
"I put it on the table before retiring last night," replied Mr.
Prescott. "It must be there--but it isn't, is it?"
"Honest, now, dad, this isn't a joke, is it?"
"Not on my part, anyway," replied the elder Prescott rather blankly.
"Now, I suppose that you're both playing a little joke on me, trying to
make me curious and impatient," laughed Dick's mother.
"But where is the package?" demanded Dick, exploring all around. His
father lent a helping hand in the search.
"Oh, never mind, Dick, dear," urged his mother. "My surprise is bound to
turn up. It couldn't have walked out of these rooms. Look at your own
package, my boy."
Dick turned to glance eagerly at a not very large box, against which
rested a card bearing his own name. He saw, at a glance, that the box
bore the imprint of one of the Gridley jewelers.
"I can guess!" cried Dick. "I know what's in the box!"
"Suppose you made a wrong guess?" laughed his mother teasingly. "Better
open it and make sure."
Dick picked up the box with trembling fingers.
"Mighty light, whatever it is," he murmured. Then he took off the cover.
"What's this?" choked Dick. "O-o-o-h!"
For all he saw resting in the box was a slip of white paper on which had
been poorly printed, in lead pencil, the words:
"Merry Christmas, Master Butt-in!"
"Some of Dad's fooling," laughed Dick a moment later.
"Not much it isn't," retorted Mr. Prescott, taking a quick step forward.
"Let me see that paper."
Dick handed it over, and his father read the words.
"What on earth does this mean?" he demanded. "What we put in that box
was your first watch, Dick. A silver-cased watch and a very neat
gold-plated chain."
One look at his father and a swift glance at his mother convinced the
boy that they had not been parties to any joke. Yet where were the watch
and chain?
"Who could have left this slip of paper here?" asked Mrs. Prescott.
"Hardly any one outside of the family," replied Mr. Prescott. "I don't
understand this at all."
"And mother's gift, too?" pondered Dick aloud, growing more puzzled
every instant.
"Well, certainly no one else has been in this flat," went on Mrs.
Prescott.
But Dick flew first to one parlor window, and then to the other. Next he
crossed the parlor in two bounds, dashing to his bedroom. He came back,
holding the slip of paper he had taken from the outer door the night
before.
"The two slips look as though they had been printed by the same fellow,
don't they?" inquired the boy.
"Yes," nodded Mr. Prescott. Dick told him about finding the other slip
on the door the evening before.
"But who could play such a mean trick?" insisted Mrs. Prescott.
"The fit-thrower, very likely," Dick answered.
"The fit--what?"
Then Dick hastily recalled to them his adventures of the day before.
"And one parlor window is fastened," Dick went on. "The other has its
catch slipped. The fit-thrower must have climbed up in the night,
slipped the catch with a thin blade and prowled around in here just to
spoil our Christmas."
"It looks that way," nodded Mr. Prescott slowly, his usually calm eyes
filled with disappointment. Then he added, to his wife: "My dear, I'm
very glad, indeed, that I placed your chain on your bureau last night,
instead of leaving it here on the parlor table."
"And poor Dick doesn't get any present!" cried Mrs. Prescott, her eyes
filling a bit. "O Dick, this year we thought we'd please you more by
putting all the money we could spare into one present, so we got your
watch and chain that you've wanted for so long. It's--it's too, too
bad!"
Mrs. Prescott, though seldom given to tears, now sank to the sofa,
pulled out her handkerchief and gave brief vent to her own great
disappointment.
"Never mind, mother; it may turn up all right yet," urged Dick
soothingly, as he rested one arm around her waist. "But if Mr. Fits
really did break in here and take your present, then I feel as though
I'd enjoy trailing him to the end of the earth and seeing him shoved
away behind strong bars!"
"It seems almost fantastic," declared Mr. Prescott, "but I'm afraid,
Dick, that the scoundrel you've told us about really did break in here
on purpose to spoil your Christmas. If he didn't come in person he must
have sent someone."
"Oh, well, anyway," protested Dick, trying to stifle his disappointment,
both on his mother's account and his own, "probably we'll all live to
see more Christmases. But, mother, I'm awfully sorry about the loss of
your gift. Dad thought, too, that I had made a fine choice."
"Indeed you did, young man," remarked Mr. Prescott. "You know, my dear,
that the last time you went to the opera house it was a gala occasion,
and you regretted that you didn't have a really nice fan to carry? Dick
remembered that, and he got you a fan. It was a handsome one. I didn't
believe that a young boy could have as much taste as our son displayed
in choosing that fan. And now--it isn't here!"
Then each tried to cheer the other up, but despite their best efforts it
started in as a gloomy Christmas morning. The Prescotts, while not by
any means poverty stricken, were yet in very moderate circumstances.
Dick knew well enough that his parents would not be able to duplicate
his much-wanted Christmas gift, and that he would have to wait until
some dim time in the future before he could hope to carry a watch of his
own.
So all three went out to the breakfast table. Dick, to do him justice,
thought more of his mother's loss than of his own.
"Are you going to the police about this, my dear?" Mrs. Prescott asked
her husband presently.
"I could," the elder Prescott replied, "but I don't imagine it would do
much good. The stuff that has been taken isn't likely to be restored to
us. I doubt if the police would think it even worth any effort. It isn't
an important robbery, as crime goes. It was just a little trick of
revenge."
"Mr. Fits is revenged all right, then," admitted Dick, with a bitter
smile. "Oh, I only hope that I get a fair chance to pay him back one of
these near days! But, at any rate, my Christmas isn't going to be
spoiled. You have already agreed to my going away on the camping trip
to-morrow, and that is going to be more fun for me than two
Christmases."
"I'm glad you're looking forward so to enjoying your vacation in the
forest," smiled Mrs. Prescott. "It does seem fortunate that you have
such a treat at hand to repay you for your disappointment."
Suddenly Dick looked blank for an instant. Laying down his knife he
employed his right hand in making a frantic thrust into one of his
trousers' pockets. Then he fished up a banknote.
"Thank goodness that is all right," he gasped. "Mr. Fits didn't think to
look for that. It's my five dollars left out of Mrs. Dexter's present,
and is the money that I'm going to pay my share of the camp expenses
with. But, on second thought, I believe I'll drop out of that camping
scheme."
"Why?" asked Mr. Prescott, in a rather sharp, queer voice.
"Because this five dollars will fool Mr. Fits in another way. I can go
to-morrow and get mother another fan like the first one."
Mr. Prescott's eyes flashed proudly for a moment as he answered, a bit
huskily.
"You could do that, of course, young man, but your mother would never
forgive you for cheating yourself out of the one pleasure you want
most."
"Sometimes," spoke Dick gravely, "there's more fun in doing without a
pleasure, when you can find another that is worth more to you."
The tears stood in Mrs. Prescott's eyes. She rose and dropped both arms
around her boy.
"If we absolutely needed your money, Dick," she said, "I know how
cheerfully you would do without your pleasure for our sakes. But this is
a case where your going camping will be worth more to us all than
anything else that five dollars would buy. Besides, think how
disappointed your friends would be over not having their leader."
"I appreciate your mother's feelings so much, lad," went on Mr.
Prescott, "that I forbid you to spend your remaining money on anything
for your mother. She has had her greatest happiness in knowing that you
spent half of the first considerable sum of money you ever had in buying
something for her. That is as far as you can go. Illness alone
preventing, Dick, you'll go camping, and you'll pay your full share into
the camping fund. Besides, I'm glad to say that the indications are that
a much better business year is coming, and that probably we'll soon be
able to have all the things within reason that we may want."
So Christmas, if it ran rather shy on presents in the Prescott
household, was at least a season of extremely good feeling among three
people whose sympathies ran staunchly together.
"The fellows will be waiting to see me," laughed Dick after breakfast.
"So, if I haven't anything to show 'em, at least I've got something to
tell them that will make their hair stand up. And I wonder if Mr. Fits
visited any of their homes last night?"
Laughing, though doubtless he felt quite unlike it, Dick Prescott put on
coat and hat and went out into the Gridley streets.
CHAPTER V
DICK TRIES STRATEGY
"Hey! Hear about Dick Prescott?"
"What?"
"His Christmas got 'pinched'!"
"No!"
"Sure."
Rapidly indeed did the news travel about. Dick told it to his own chums
first. The news "leaked" and traveled up and down the streets as Gridley
boys began to come forth to compare their Christmas experiences.
Just as certainly, too, the news didn't lose any on its rounds. By the
time that the yarn had been carried to the further end of Main Street,
Dick's holiday losses had mounted up to a total of: A gold watch and
chain, a diamond stickpin, a twenty dollar gold piece, a suit of
clothes, silver plated racing skates, a camera, a cornet and a host of
lesser articles.
"Whee! The Prescotts must have been making money this year," commented
Ben Alvord, when he heard the long list of presents named.
"Say," proposed Dave Darrin indignantly, "we'll hike all over Gridley
and just see if we can't run into Mr. Fits somewhere. If we find him
we'll jump him all together, and then holler for the police."
Quite a bit of searching the six members of Dick & Co. did that morning,
though all without the least success. It presently dawned on these
Grammar School boys that Mr. Fits must have left Gridley far behind.
"We'll keep our mind on the camping, anyway," proposed Dick. "We want to
start to-morrow morning. We ought to meet at eight o'clock, and then get
away together as soon after as we can."
"And hoof it twelve miles?" asked Hazelton.
"No; as we'll have so much stuff to carry, we'll have to pay someone to
drive the stuff out there for us. If we have a wagon we may as well ride
on it."
"I hope you fellows will all have a good time," suggested Dan Dalzell
generously, though his own face still wore a doleful look. For his
father and mother had held out against his going. All of the other boys
had secured permission.
"It's a shame you can't go, Dan," blazed Dave.
"That's what I think," muttered Dan. "Huh! I've a good mind to run away
from home."
"You'd get spanked when you went back," laughed Tom Reade.
"Huh! I ought to run away and never come back," growled Dan.
"Oh, cut that out--do!" urged Dick. "Be a fellow of good sense, Danny.
Your father and mother have their own reasons for not wanting you to
go."
"Their reasons don't do me any good," uttered Dan resentfully.
"Would it do any good if we all went down to your house and tried
coaxing for you?" asked Greg Holmes.
"Not a bit," declared Danny gloomily.
"Say, will you fellows wait here a little while?" begged Dick. "I want
to run home a minute. I'll be right back."
"Go ahead," nodded Dave.
Dick started on a trot, for he had a new thought as to a possible way of
securing Dan's happiness.
As young Prescott turned a corner and raced homeward, he was espied by a
boy on the other side of the street.
"Hey, Dick!" challenged Hen Dutcher gleefully. "What time is it?"
Dick flushed, but wisely made no answer.
"Humph!" muttered Hen to himself. "Just as well his watch did get the
run-off. Now Dick Prescott won't be hauling his old timepiece out every
two minutes in school to see what time it is."
Dick reached home somewhat out of breath.
"Who's been chasing you?" demanded Mr. Prescott, snatching up a cane
that stood in the corner of the parlor. He assumed a ferocious
expression, which, with one of as peaceable a disposition as Dick's
father possessed, looked more than out of place.
"I haven't got time to joke, dad," objected the boy, dropping into a
chair. "But I've got something very particular that I want you to do for
me, and it will make Christmas really jolly after all if you can do it."
Then Dick unfolded his plan, while Mr. Prescott looked uneasy.
"Why, Dick, my boy, if Dalzell's parents don't want him to go camping it
would look very strange in me to call on them and urge them to exchange
their own good judgment for mine. It would look like an impertinence on
my part. Dan's father and mother are the very best judges as to whether
he should be allowed to go away several days camping. In fact, although
I've consented to it, I'm not sure that I have shown the best kind of
judgment in the matter."
"Oh, I don't want you to urge the Dalzells very hard, dad. I'm not just
asking that. But I think, if you talk it over with them, perhaps----"
"It's a queer bit of business for me," remarked Mr. Prescott.
"But will you go, Dad? Please."
"Yes," agreed Mr. Prescott very reluctantly.
"Can you--can you just as easily go soon, dad?"
"Ye-es. I'll go now. It's such a queer piece of business that I shall be
thankful when I have it over with."
"And you'll say the best word you can think of, won't you?"
"If you don't stop soon, young man, I may change my mind and back out
altogether."
But Dick, who knew well enough that his father's promise, once given,
was never gone back on, thanked him and then danced joyously out into
the street again.
"What was the matter, Dick?" asked Tom Reade, curiously, when he
rejoined his chums. "Did you forget something?"
"There was something I wanted to talk to dad about," responded Dick
evasively.
"What----" began Dan, without an inkling of a true guess.
"Be still, you Danny boy," ordered Dave Darrin bluntly. "The family
affairs of the Prescotts should be no concern of yours."
Though, very much to his regret, Dick did not possess a watch, he
nevertheless managed to keep very good track of the time. Something more
than an hour later he led the fellows around to his own corner. He was
just in time to see Mr. Prescott returning.
"You stay here a minute," young Prescott directed, then set off at a run
to join his father.
"Did you--did you----" he panted, as he reached his parent.
"Yes," replied the head of the family, a bit stiffly. "I made a nuisance
of myself over at the Dalzells. I talked and talked. They talked, too,
and both Mr. and Mrs. Dalzell asked me if I thought it at all safe to
let such a busy little gang of hooligans as you boys go off on such an
expedition. All I could say was to point out the fact that I had given
you leave. Well, Mr. and Mrs. Dalzell gave their consent to Dan's going.
So now I hope you're satisfied."
"Satisfied? Oh, dad, thank you! This is the best Christmas ever. Thank
you! Whoop!"
With that young Prescott executed an about-face and went charging back
to where he had left his chums.
"Are you crazy?" demanded Dan curiously.
"No; but you'll be, in a minute. Dad went over to see your folks, and
they've given in. You're to go with us."
CHAPTER VI
THE LOG CABIN'S TELLTALE HEARTH
"Have we got everything?" demanded Tom Reade anxiously.
"I think so," nodded Dick.
"No one ever yet started off on any big jaunt without forgetting
something, you know," Greg explained.
"Well, let every fellow take a look around and see if he can find
anything that we ought to have, and haven't," suggested Dick.
Six pairs of eyes did some anxious searching.
It was nearly ten o'clock on the morning after Christmas. Dick & Co.
stood in Miller's grocery store, having mounted guard over an extensive
supply of groceries, meat and personal belongings. What a stack of stuff
there was!
Dick and Dave had been delegated to do the buying. Starting with a
capital of thirty dollars, they had expended a little more than nineteen
dollars with the butcher and grocer. Joe Miller, the grocer's son, had
gone to hitch up a pair of horses to a roomy truck wagon. Their
conveyance to camp, some twelve miles distant, was to cost them four
dollars, and Miller had made a low price at that. Dave, as the
treasurer of the outfit, now had nearly seven dollars left, but of
this, four would be required to pay Joe Miller for the return trip.
In addition to food supplies, each of the six boys had brought along
underclothing, shirts and an extra pair of shoes. These personal
belongings were packed in bags.
Then, besides, each boy had a roll of bedding--a pillow, sheets and old
blankets and comforters for each. There were also, either in bedding
rolls or in bags, some few toilet articles. There was also a box of old
kitchen ware. Tom Reade had brought a Rochester lamp; Greg and Dan had
contributed lanterns and Dick a dark lantern.
"I see one thing we haven't got, but ought to have," said Harry Hazelton
to Dick.
"What's that?" asked the latter.
"A shotgun. Joe Miller has a good one, and I know he'd lend it to us if
we asked him."
"We won't ask him," Dick replied.
"Now, why not? We have money enough so we can afford to buy some shells,
and----"
"Harry, did you tell your folks you expected there'd be a shotgun along
on this trip?"
"'Course not. I didn't know there would be one."
"Do you think your folks would have let you come if they had thought of
such a thing?"
"Maybe not. But they didn't say a word against our having one."
"Harry, if our parents were to hear that we had taken a shotgun along
they'd be worried to death," said Dick gravely.
"Humph! We're old enough to manage a gun," remonstrated Hazelton.
"Perhaps we are, but it would worry our home folks just the same. Boys
are always believed to be careless with firearms. We don't want any
shotgun along, and then we won't have any need to be sorry about it
afterwards."
"But there'll be rabbits and other game that we might get."
"Dave has brought his air-rifle, and has plenty of 'pills' for it. And
Tom brought along his bow and half a dozen arrows. We can take care of
the little game we may see."
"That's right," broke in Dave, who had been listening. "If we were fools
enough to take along a shotgun it'd be many a day before we'd get leave
to go on another camping jaunt."
So better counsel prevailed, and Joe Miller was not asked to loan his
shotgun. In due time Joe drove around to the door of the store, and the
work of loading began.
"Hey, you fellows, where are you going?" hailed Ben Alvord, stopping and
gaping in wonder.
"Camping," replied Dick with an air of importance.
"Whee! Say, take me along?" coaxed Ben.
Dick hated the task of refusing, but Dave came to his rescue.
"Got five dollars, Ben?"
"Quit your kidding," retorted Alvord.
"That's what each fellow paid to get into this outfit," Dave went on.
"We couldn't feed any more fellows unless they contributed their share
in cash."
"How long you going to be gone?" asked Ben.
"Maybe two weeks."
"Whee!"
"It will depend somewhat on how long it takes us to eat up our table
stuff," laughed Dick.
"My, but you fellows are in luck!"
A few more of the Grammar School fellows happened along. There was much
envious talk. There were also several pleas to be taken along, but the
mention of the five dollar assessment silenced all such requests.
"All ready!" called out Joe Miller at last. "You youngsters jump on
lively, for we've got a long way to go."
With a glad whoop Dick & Co. piled aboard the truck, stowing themselves
away as comfortably as might be.
"Giddap!" grumbled Joe at the horses.
"Say!" shouted Ben Alvord as the start was made.
"Well?" answered Dan.
"Who's going to do your cookin'?"
"We are."
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