Barry Locke, half-back

Returning five minutes later, Peaches thrust his head in at Barry’s door, with strange results. An agitated youth rushed upon him, waving a large sheet of paper. Peaches retreated. Barry pursued. Barry was somewhat inarticulate, but Peaches finally gathered that he was being entreated to look at the paper. He did so obligingly. Then he looked at Barry.

“Well, what is it?” he demanded. “Where’d you get it? Who gave—”

“I didn’t!” gasped Barry. “Nobody did! I found it! In the desk!”

“You found it!” Peaches laughed mirthlessly. “Go on,” he said. “Have your little joke.”

“But I tell you—”

“Yes, I know,” said Peaches, soothingly. “Let’s find a couple in the bureau, eh? Quit your kidding, Barry. What’s the big idea?”

“Gee! I’m telling you!” shouted Barry, exasperated. “Look at it! Is it any good?”

“Any good?” Peaches acted somewhat dazed himself now. “Of course it’s any good. At least—why, sure it is! What do you think? ‘Northern Counties Light and Power,’ eh? One thousand dollars. Six per cent. Maturing nineteen-forty-three. Why wouldn’t it be good?”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t! I only wanted to be sure!”

“Well, you’d better take it to the bank, then. It looks all right to me, but there may be a catch to it. Where’d you get it?”

“Great Scott! I’ve told you twenty times!” Barry dragged him to the desk and pointed to the open drawer. “In there! It was lying there, right on top. Folded. I went to look for a patch-scrad—”

“A what?” Peaches viewed his friend in dawning suspicion. Last night Barry had complained of not feeling well. Could it be possible that— “Say, you got much fever?” he asked, trying to put a hand on Barry’s forehead.

“Shut up, can’t you? I said I was looking for a scratch-pad, and it was the wrong door—drawer, I mean—and there was this thing staring at me! How’d it get there, Peaches?”

“Gosh! you don’t suspect me, do you? Listen, Barry, I’m not feeling strong to-day. Put that blamed thing down a minute and tell it to me in words of one sillabub.”

Barry did so. Peaches whistled. They stared at each other. Then, with lowered voice:

“Do you suppose that’s the bond that Davy—that was lost that time?” asked Peaches.

“Of course it is! Don’t you see? He wanted to get rid of it and came up here some time when I was out and put it in that drawer!”

“Gosh!” muttered Peaches. Then, after an instant: “But hold on! What would be the idea? Why put it in there? If he had it that long, why should he want to get rid of it?”

“How do I know? But here it is, isn’t it?”

“Yes, if it is! I mean if that’s the same bond. After all, Barry, that’s just a theory.”

“Well—hang it!—who else would do it? And—and why pick on me? Gee! every one’s trying to put something over on me lately! First there was that letter, and now there’s this! Why, I might be arrested for stealing it!”

“Not likely, since you weren’t around at the time. Hold yourself and let’s look at this thing calmly. When did you look in that drawer last?” he asked.

“Last?” Barry considered. “I don’t know. I’m not certain. I don’t think I’ve had it open for a couple of days; not since we had the drawers out, the night Toby was in here.”

“You put them back after the Major left,” said Peaches. “Remember? Well, it wasn’t there then, I suppose, or you’d have seen it.”

Barry nodded, but doubtfully.

“I guess so,” he said. “Still, I mightn’t. I—I was sort of flabbergasted just then. I must have been, because I got the second drawer where the third drawer goes and the third drawer—”

“Hold on!” exclaimed Peaches, excitedly. “Remember when Toby was rummaging through the desk? Remember his saying something about something being stuck in a splinter inside the desk?”

Barry shook his head.

“No, I don’t remember that.”

“Well,” said Peaches, triumphantly, “I do! Where’s Toby?”

“In his room, I guess. Want me to—”

“Toby! Toby Nott!” shouted Peaches, loudly. There was a protesting answer from beyond the pink wall. “Come here! On the run!”

Peaches seized the document and refolded it, returning it to the top of the desk just as Toby, a book in one hand, arrived at the door and viewed them aggrievedly through his big spectacles.

“What you want?” he asked.

“Come in,” Peaches directed. “Say, Toby: you remember the night you brought that moth in here?”

“Yes, I do,” replied Toby, moving his gaze accusingly to Barry. “He went and threw it out the window!”

“Never mind that. When you were hunting inside the desk, after the drawers were out, did you find anything?”

“No, he wasn’t there. Barry found him afterward—”

“Leave that plaguey moth out of it a minute, can’t you? Did you find a—a paper or anything, I mean?”

Toby blinked, thought hard an instant, and then nodded.

“Yeah, there was a letter—no, not a letter—well, something up in the corner. It was stuck up against the top with a splinter. I told you about it and I put it in one of those drawers, and you needn’t try to make out that I swiped it!”

“Is this it?”

Toby moved forward, glanced at the indicated article, and nodded.

“Sure it is! What’s all the row about, then? If you’ve got it—”

“You’re certain this is what you found?”

“’Course I’m certain! It had printing on it just like that. Say, what’s it all about, anyway?” Toby viewed the document again. “Bond? Lookut, Barry: if it don’t belong to you, I claim it! Yes, sir, I found it! Lookut—”

“Much obliged,” said Peaches. “That’s all, Toby.”

“No, it ain’t, either! If that’s worth anything, I’ve got a right to share in it. Now, see here, you fellows—”

“Toby!” said Peaches, quietly emphatic.

Toby became silent and moved toward the door, his gaze, however, still lingering on the bond. Finally the mutinous spirit prevailed.

“That’s all right,” he ejaculated bitterly as he held the door between him and Peaches, “but all I’ve got to say is you guys have got a gall to throw my moth away and then try to do me out of my bond!”

As, however, neither of the others was longer aware of his existence, he went off, muttering, and presently the slam of his door sounded a final indignant protest.

Some three minutes later Barry and Peaches left the house hurriedly and made toward the village. Somewhere at the rear of Mr. Hannabury’s shop a bell tinkled, and the dealer in antiques answered the summons.

“About that desk I bought from you a while ago, Mr. Hannabury—” began Barry.

“Yes, a very good desk,” said the dealer, smiling. “A real bargain, too, young man.”

“Yes. Well, sir, I was wondering where it came from. I mean, would you mind telling me where you got it?”

Mr. Hannabury was silently suspicious a moment. Then he answered:

“Well, now, it ain’t customary to tell where things come from, but I guess there ain’t any harm in telling you that. That desk belonged to Mr. Watkins, Mr. Benton Watkins, of Watkins and Boyle. He used it in his office for more than twenty years, he told me. You don’t find desks nowadays made like that one’s made. They used to—”

“Funny he sold it,” interrupted Peaches, carelessly. “It’s such a nice desk you’d think he’d have wanted to keep it.”

“Well,” said Mr. Hannabury, “they got a notion to put in a lot of this here oak furniture last year. Mr. Watkins said they were gettin’ fitted out all new and up to date. Guess there wasn’t room for the old desk. I bought that and a chair and one or two little things. Didn’t make much on ’em, either. Mr. Watkins drives a hard bargain. I’d like you to look at that swivel chair before you go. It rightly belongs with the desk and you’d ought to have it.”

But Barry thought otherwise, and a moment later they were again in the street and striding briskly homeward. For a moment neither said a word. Then Peaches chuckled, and:

“I guess that settles it, Barry,” he said. “Somehow or other that bond got into Watkins’s desk; probably he put it there himself. Being wedged in the way it was, it stayed right there when the desk was cleaned out.” He chuckled again. “Gosh! old Huckabuckle, or whatever his name is, missed a rare find, didn’t he?”

“What are we going to do now?” asked Barry, excitedly.

Peaches considered.

“Well, there’s no one at home except Mrs. Lyle—and Davy. By Jove! that’s the idea! We’ll spill it to Davy! After all, he’s the most interested, I suppose. Maybe he will remember how the thing got into the desk.”

Reaching the house, Barry went upstairs and Peaches sought Davy. Barry rescued the bond from where he had concealed it before departing for the village, and laid it, blank side up on the blotter. A moment later Peaches and David Lyle came in.

Davy was much like his father, with Mr. Benjy’s small features and friendly, gentle eyes. But Davy was taller and spoke with a firmness and initiative that Mr. Benjy lacked. A good-looking boy, Barry thought, and one likely to make more of a success in life than his father had. Having smilingly shaken hands, Davy took the chair that Peaches offered and looked inquiringly from one to another.

“Davy,” began Peaches, “I want to ask a couple of questions, and I don’t want you to think I’m cheeky. I’ve got a reason for them.”

“All right,” said Davy, quietly.

“What sort of bond was it that was lost last winter at Watkins and Boyle’s?”

“N. C. Light and Power,” answered Davy. “One thousand dollars, six per cent, nineteen-forty-three, coupons attached.”

Peaches grinned and Barry took a long breath. Davy watched Peaches unwaveringly.

“Ever see that desk before?” asked Peaches, nodding.

Davy looked at the article, frowned slightly, and hesitated.

“I think so, but it wasn’t in this room last year, was it?”

“No,” said Peaches.

“Seems to me I remember it,” puzzled Davy, “but I think it was somewhere else. Why?”

“Did they have anything like it where you worked? At the factory, I mean.”

“By gum! Why, that’s— Of course it isn’t, but it’s a ringer for the desk Mr. Watkins had in the outer office!”

“Right! One more question, Davy. Ever see that before?” He pointed to the oblong fold of paper lying conspicuously on the blue blotter. Davy arose, reached for it, and drew back. His face looked almost as white as the parchment.

“Jones, if this is a joke it’s—it’s a rotten one,” he said hoarsely.

“Have a look,” answered Peaches, cheerfully. “It won’t bite you.”

Davy raised the bond, turned it over, and stood staring at it a long moment. Then he laughed uncertainly, laid the document down again, and walked to the window. After a little moment he asked, still looking out, “Where did you get it, Peaches?”

“Barry found it in that desk. He bought the desk from a second-hand man in the village. Is it the one?”

“Yes.” Davy turned and came back. He laid a finger on the upper left corner of the bond. “There’s Mr. Boyle’s mark. He examined the bond and wrote his initials in pencil in the corner, as he always did.” Barry and Peaches leaned over and looked. The letters “T. J. B.” were dimly discernible. They had been written with a hard pencil, evidently, and neither Barry nor Peaches had noticed them before.

“I don’t understand, though,” Davy continued, frowning, “how it got there. I put it in the safe!”

“Are you certain?” asked Peaches. “This was found by Toby one night when he had the drawers out, looking for a moth that got away from him. He says it was lodged under a splinter against the top there. You wouldn’t have put it there, would you?”

“Wait a minute.” Davy was staring hard at the old carpet. “Let me think, fellows.” There was a moment of silence. Then Davy’s head came up sharply and he said with a rush:

“I remember now! I didn’t put it in the safe! Mr. Boyle handed it to me and said, ‘Put that in Box B., David,’ and I went into the outer office, and Mr. Watkins looked up and asked if that was the Light and Power bond and I said it was and he said, ‘Let me see it a minute’! I gave it to him, and just then Haggard called me and I went back to the outer office. Haggard—he was office manager—kept me busy until noon hour and I forgot about the bond, I suppose. When they asked me later, I was certain I’d put it in the safe. I thought I remembered pulling out the box and laying the bond inside!”

“What happened,” said Peaches, “is that Watkins probably stuffed the thing into that top drawer and it somehow got lodged under the splinter when the drawer was closed.”

“That’s exactly it!” agreed Davy. “That drawer was always stuffed full. He was like that. He was forever losing things and having to search all through that desk. Funny my forgetting, though! Why, I remember all about it now!” He dropped into his chair and grinned joyfully at Peaches and Barry. “Say, this is bully luck for me, fellows!” he added.

“I’ll say so!” said Peaches. He jumped up and thumped Davy on the back. “Gosh, I’m glad! And I’d like to be around when you hand that over to Watkins and Boyle. I’d like to see their faces!”

“You will,” said Davy. “I won’t touch it, fellows. You must take it to them and tell them all about it. If I did it they’d say I had it all the time and was making the story up!”

“Well,” said Peaches, doubtfully. Then: “Or how about letting Mr. Benjy do it? Gosh! it would tickle him to death, Davy! What do you think?”

Davy laughed.

“All right, but you chaps must be on hand as witnesses. Why, say, I can go right out now and sit on the front porch! Or walk downtown! By gum, it’s great to have this thing cleared up! Look here: if we telephone to Dad now we could meet him downtown and go to the factory, I guess.”

“I couldn’t go,” said Barry. “I’ve got a recitation in just twelve minutes.”

“Nor I,” said Peaches. “And we’d need Toby, too. Let’s leave it until after dinner. You telephone Mr. Benjy, Davy, and I’ll round up the bunch for one o’clock. You’d better look after this thing until then, I guess.”

“No, thanks,” answered Davy, grimly. “I’m not even going to touch it again. You fellows keep it. I’m going down to tell Mother. Say, honest, fellows, I can’t ever tell you how grateful I am. Gosh, it’s like—like finding a million dollars; only better!”

“Don’t thank me,” laughed Peaches. “Thank Barry.”

“Don’t thank me, either,” said Barry. “Toby’s your man, for if he hadn’t come in with his old moth—”

“Thank the moth!” exclaimed Peaches. “If you can find him!”