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The Grammar School Boys of Gridley, a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 18. Carrying "Fun" To The Danger Limit |
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_ CHAPTER XVIII. CARRYING "FUN" TO THE DANGER LIMIT The Hallowe'eners hidden across the street, and Hoof Sadby posted up the street, ready to come on the scene and do his part when needed, Tom Reade and Greg Holmes crept up to the front porch of the Crossleigh home, deposited the basket, rang and then bolted. In a short time a dim light was visible through the stained glass of the front door. Then that barrier itself was opened, and Mr. Crossleigh, a man past middle age, and in dressing-gown and slippers, came out. Seeing no one, and coming further out, Mr. Crossleigh almost kicked the basket. But he recovered in time, and bent down. The peepers, not far away, heard him utter an exclamation of amazement. Then: "Wife!" he called back into the house. "Come and see who's here!" "Who is it?" hailed a voice from inside. "Cousin Jenny?" "No; it isn't." "Who? The minister?" "No; you just come and see." Then Mrs. Crossleigh came down the hallway and out on to the porch. "Now, who do you think it is?" chuckled Mr. Crossleigh, lifting the basket. "Henry Crossleigh, where on earth----" "Don't ask me where it came from, wife. I found it here on the stoop when I answered the bell." "Well of all the----" gasped the woman in wonder. "Ain't it!" agreed her husband. "It's--it's--why, I do believe it's a real cute little shaver," continued the woman hesitatingly. "Fine little fellow, I should say, though I'm no judge," continued Mr. Crossleigh. "And it isn't crying a bit. Do you suppose it's a foundling, left on our stoop, as we sometimes read of in the papers, Henry?" "That's just what it is, of course. Folks don't leave small children around for a joke, wife." "And have we got to take it in and keep it?" "The law doesn't compel us to." "But--Henry----" "What is it, wife?" "Do you suppose--we've never had any children. Do you think we could----" "We can do whatever you say, wife," nodded Mr. Crossleigh. "If you say that you want to----" Here he came to a pause. The new idea was so wholly strange that he couldn't grasp it all at once. Here Hoof Sadby, straining his ears from the distance, judged that it was high time for him to use his slice of onion. Then his doleful voice was heard as he came wailing along. "Why, who's that out there?" cried Mrs. Crossleigh. "Say, have you got my baby brother!" demanded Hoof, halting at the gateway, then running forward for a minute. "Some fellers---- "Is this the brother you're looking for?" asked Mr. Crossleigh, stepping toward Hoof, basket in hand. "Yes!" snapped Hoof, giving a pretended gulp of joy. But, truth to tell, he felt so ashamed of himself that he was a poor actor at this moment. Had the Crossleighs been more suspicious they would have detected something sham in Hoof's beginning grief and his swift change to joy. "Oh, thank you, sir," awkwardly sobbed Hoof, taking the basket. "I know the fellows that did this to me. They think this is a good Hallowe'en joke." "I'm glad, boy, that you didn't have a longer hunt," remarked Mr. Crossleigh. "Good night!" Then Hoof and the peepers across the way saw Mr. Crossleigh throw an arm around his wife's waist and draw her into the house, closing the door. "Say, who said they were cranks?" demanded Greg Holmes, when the abashed Hallowe'eners had gathered a little way down the street. "Why, those folks would have been only too glad to take the little shaver in and----" "Adopt it," supplied Dan Dalzell. Truth to tell, Dick and all the Grammar School boys had seen the beginning of a scene that made their joke look small. "If I ever catch any fellow trying to sneak the Crossleigh's gate," warned Dave loftily, "I'll give that fellow all that's coming his way!" "They're the right sort of people," confessed Dick. "Fellows, we've all got to make it our business to see that the Crossleighs are never bothered again by fellows out for larks. Say, they showed us that playing a joke with a baby is only a clownish trick, didn't they?" "I'm going home," announced Hoof. "This little shaver has been out long enough. It's time he was in his crib." To this no objection was offered. As Wrecker Lane was near his home he ran off with the basket, which he tossed into the yard, after which he overtook his companions. "What are we going to do, now?" Ben Alvord wanted to know. "Let's prowl around and see what other Hallowe'eners are doing," proposed Dick. Apparently there was enough going on. The Grammar School boys came across one party of grown young men who had climbed to the top of a blacksmith shop and had hoisted a wagon into place on the ridge pole. At another point they came across a group of High School boys who, with bricks done up in fancy paper, and with a confectioner's label pasted on the package, were industriously circulating these sham sweets by tying the packages to door-knobs, ringing the bells and then hurrying away. In another part of the town the Grammar School boys came upon a bevy of schoolgirls engaged in the ancient pastime of "hanging baskets." In time Dick and the rest of the crowd found themselves down by the railroad, not far from the railway station. Lights shone out from the office where the night operator was handling train orders and other telegrams. "What can we do here?" demanded Ben Alvord. "I don't know," returned Dave. "It's a bad place to play tricks," advised Dick. "Railway people are in a serious line of business, and they don't stand for much nonsense." "Green is the night operator, and I don't forget the switching he gave some of us a year ago," muttered Ben Alvord bitterly. "What were you doing?" asked Dick. "Oh, just catching on and off a night freight that was being made up in the yard." "And taking a big chance of getting hurt?" asked Dick. "I don't know that I blame Green much for taking the quickest course he knew of getting you out of harm's way." "He had no right to switch us with a stick," insisted Ben. "You're right he hadn't," spoke up another youngster. "I was there, and I got some of that switch across my legs, too. Whew! I can feel the sting yet." "I guess it's about time that Green heard from us," insisted Ben. "If I were you I wouldn't do anything around here," advised Dick. "You're right," nodded Dave. "And I guess, Ben, you fellows didn't get a bit more than you deserved." "I'll show old Green whether we did," snapped Ben. "Don't you think of it," warned Greg Holmes. "It's a serious business to monkey with railroad property. Besides, anything serious might put in danger the lives of people traveling on the railroad." "Oh, keep quiet and do some thinking," retorted young Alvord. "Any of you fellows that never eat anything but milk, and are 'fraidcats, can cut out of this. I tell you, I'm going to get hunk with Green, and fellows with sand, who want to see it, can stay. The milksops can go home and to bed." Not a boy stirred away just then. It isn't boy nature to withdraw under taunts. "Say, Ben, I'll tell you something you dassent do," dared one of the boys. "It'll have to be something pretty big that I don't dare do," boasted young Alvord. "Do you dast to pick up a stone and smash one of the red or green lights over there?" The lights referred to were the signal lights for passing trains. "Don't do that!" protested Dick Prescott sharply. "That certainly would be downright criminal!" "Milksop!" retorted Ben. "I dast to do anything that I want to." "I think I dare do anything that's decent," retorted Dick quietly. "But I don't pretend that I'm brave enough to commit crimes, if you call breaking the law bravery." "Crime?" sneered Ben. "Bosh! This is only fun, and getting square with a man who has been mean to some of us." "If you don't take Dick's advice, and cut out the trick, you'll be mighty sorry afterwards," urged Tom Reade. "Come on, fellows. Let's move along and find some fun that is more decent." "Babies!" jeered Ben Alvord. "You haven't nerve enough to stand up for your rights and pay Green back for the way he treats the fellows when he loses his temper. You're babies! Go on. Those who aren't babies will stay right here and see what happens." "You're talking boldly enough, now, Ben Alvord, but you'll be whining to-morrow, instead. Come on, fellows; let's have nothing to do with the scheme," cried Dick. "Babies!" sneered Ben again. "You fellows who want to be classed with the babies can go. The fellows with nerve can stay right here." "Come along, then," urged Dick, and he and his chums started away. At the corner, just before turning up the street that led away from the railway station Dick turned to see if others than his chums were coming along. But Dick & Co. proved to be the only ones who had left the scene. There were others who wanted to go with Dick Prescott, but they didn't care to risk being taunted with being "babies." So they stood by Ben, though nervously. "Do you s'pose we'll get in jail?" whispered one of Ben's followers nervously. "Humph! You'd better run along with the babies," jeered Ben Alvord. "I guess it's time that some of you were in your cradles, anyway." "Shut up! We're standing by you, aren't we?" Wrecker Lane demanded. "Are you ready, then?" inquired Ben, glancing around at those who had stayed with him. "Yes," replied Toby. "Now, take good aim!" warned Ben, in a conspirator's tone. "Remember, we can't wait, this time, for any repeat shots. All you fellows ready?" "Yes," came the response. "When I say 'three,' then," ordered Ben. "All ready! One, two, three!" Through the air whizzed a volley of stones. Crash! Both the red and the green lights went out, the glass flying in splinters. Guessing what had happened, Operator Green dashed out hotfoot in pursuit. _ |
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