Rather than stand around, all the boys except Red took their canteens and trudged off. The latter remained with Mr. Hatfield to keep an eye on the biscuits.
“They’re rising just right,” the Cub leader said, presently peeking into the oven. “Another five minutes and they’ll be golden brown.”
“They sure smell good,” Red declared, sniffing the air. “I could eat a dozen of ’em myself.”
“We only allowed three for each Cub,” Mr. Hatfield laughed. “The fire’s burning out though. We need more wood.”
The Cubs had not gathered enough. So after taking another glance at the biscuits to be certain they would not burn, Mr. Hatfield and Red set off together to find a few sticks.
Suitable wood was not to be found close to the camp. Already the Cubs had gathered this. Compelled to seek farther away, the Cub leader and Red consumed more time than they had intended in gathering sticks.
“Let’s get back,” Mr. Hatfield advised. “If we let those biscuits burn, the boys will mob us.”
As the two returned to the campfire, they met the Cubs trotting in with their filled canteens.
“Hey!” yelled Dan. “Aren’t those biscuits done yet?”
“They should be,” Mr. Hatfield answered. “Start your eggs frying, boys, so everything will come off the fire at the same time. Brad will show you what to do.”
“How about those biscuits?” Red said anxiously. “They’ve been in the oven a long time.”
“Not too long,” replied Mr. Hatfield. “We want ’em a nice deep brown. But I’ll take a quick look.”
Eager for a peek themselves, the Cubs gathered around.
Mr. Hatfield opened the oven. A blast of heat struck the Cubs full in their faces.
“Why, what happened to ’em?” Dan demanded in astonishment. “Where are those wonderful biscuits you were bragging about?”
The oven was empty. Gone were the biscuits and likewise the metal sheet upon which they had been baked!
CHAPTER 14
Beside the Camp Fire
The Cubs stared at the empty oven, uncertain whether or not Mr. Hatfield and Red had played a trick upon them.
“Hey, where are they?” Midge demanded. “Who swiped the biscuits?”
“That’s what I want to know,” said Mr. Hatfield.
His grim tone left no doubt that the biscuits actually were missing. Their disappearance was as mysterious to Mr. Hatfield and Red as to the other boys.
“Why, they were here a few minutes ago!” Red exclaimed indignantly. “Someone’s swiped ’em!”
Mr. Hatfield glanced quickly about the camp. No one however, was within sight.
“Of all the dirty tricks!” Dan exploded. “Taking the food right out of our mouths!”
“How about the bacon and eggs?” Fred demanded. “Have they walked off too?”
A check disclosed that the other food remained untouched.
“Go ahead and fry your bacon and eggs,” Mr. Hatfield advised. “Brad and I will take a quick look around.”
The pair circled the camp, even venturing a short distance into the woods. Because the ground was firm and dry, they could find no telltale footprints. Nor did they see anyone.
Giving up the search, they returned a few minutes later to share bacon and eggs with the Cubs.
“This supper is ruined without the biscuits,” Red complained. “I made ’em super! Honestly, I did.”
“I’ll bet they turned out so hard you were afraid to serve ’em,” Babe joked. “So to fool us, you buried ’em.”
“That’s not so,” Red denied hotly. “The biscuits were perfect when Mr. Hatfield and I went to gather wood. Someone stole ’em!”
“It may have been that tramp who hid out in the house,” Brad said thoughtfully. “For all we know, he may still be around somewhere.”
“Just wait until I meet him again!” Midge declared, scraping the last bit of egg from his tinfoil cup plate. “I’ll give him a piece of my mind!”
“Maybe it wasn’t the tramp,” speculated Chips. He poked the coals with a stick, and having stirred the flames, tossed a crumpled ball of foil to the fire.
“Who else could it have been?” demanded Fred. “We’ve seen no one on this road. Only cars that whiz past at twenty-five miles an hour.”
Chips had fastened his gaze upon the unpainted dwelling owned by the Widow Jones. The old house was some distance away, but visible through the trees.
“Remember that runaway boy?” he reminded the Cubs. “He was taken back to Mrs. Jones’ House, wasn’t he?”
“That’s right,” said Mr. Hatfield. Squatting beside the fire, he had listened with interest to the speculation of the Cubs.
“Well, I’ll bet a cent he went off with our food!” Chips announced. “Let’s go to the house and find out!”
“Yeah!” cried Midge. “We aren’t going to let him get by with it, are we?”
“Just a minute, boys,” interposed Mr. Hatfield. “You’re leaping to pretty fast conclusions, in my opinion. It would be a mistake—one of the worst kind—to go to Mrs. Jones and complain about the boy. We might be doing him a rank injustice.”
“Don’t forget the tramp,” added Brad significantly. “A second ago, you fellows were equally sure he was the culprit.”
“Well, it wouldn’t do any harm to go to the house and inquire,” Chips insisted. “We could be sort of—” he groped for a word.
“Discreet?” asked Mr. Hatfield, smiling.
“That’s what I mean!”
“I had intended to stop at the Jones’ house anyway,” Mr. Hatfield admitted, starting to stamp out the dying coals. “But my purpose is entirely friendly. I’m curious to learn how Jack is getting along.”
“Let’s all go,” Chips urged. “We want to see if he’s well fed—especially on biscuits!”
“Chips, I’m a bit uncertain—”
“Oh, I’ll watch myself,” the boy assured him quickly. “You can do most of the talking. We’ll just listen and keep our eyes open.”
“I’m sure I can depend on you,” the Cub leader nodded. “Well, let’s clean camp. It’s getting on toward dark.”
The Cubs put out the fire, covering the smoking coals with loose dirt. Their knapsacks loaded, they soon were ready to hit the trail.
“Now remember, boys,” Mr. Hatfield warned as the group approached the Jones dwelling, “even if you are suspicious, don’t make any accusations. Jack already is in a bad spot.”
“If we complain that he stole our food, Mrs. Jones might send him straight back to the Institute,” added Brad. “We ought to be dead sure of our ground before we open our lips.”
Smoke curled from the chimney of the widow’s house, so the Cubs knew someone was at home. The yard remained untidy, reminding them that they still had a Saturday task before them.
However, there was evidence that someone had been doing considerable work. Kindling wood had been cut and cord wood neatly sawed and stacked by the sagging porch.
Mr. Hatfield rapped on the door. In a moment, Mrs. Jones appeared in her kitchen apron, smiling as she saw the Cubs.
The Cub leader politely told her he had come to inquire how Jack Phillips was getting along.
Immediately Mrs. Jones looked troubled. “That boy!” she exclaimed. “If I haven’t had a handful!”
“I hope he hasn’t been giving you a bad time,” Mr. Hatfield returned.
“Well, yes, and no. There’s good stuff in the lad, but he’s a problem.”
“Keeping him at home is one of them, I judge.”
Mrs. Jones drew a deep sigh. “Jack is off somewhere this very minute. Early this morning I told him to cut the wood. He went through the job like a house afire, and then before I knew it, he was gone.”
“Wandering the woods perhaps?”
“Yes, that boy is like a wild things with his love of the outdoors. He went off for three hours yesterday and I gave him a switching when he came back. But it didn’t prevent him from trying the same trick today.”
Mr. Hatfield smiled as the widow mentioned the switching. She was a frail little woman, weighing a scant one hundred pounds. Jack, by contrast, was built like a football player and heavy for his age.
“I don’t think the switching hurt him any,” Mrs. Jones said. “The scamp sort of laughed while I was doing it. I’m right provoked at him today though. He took the rifle when he left.”
“Why, that’s rather dangerous.”
“Oh, Jack’s a good shot,” Mrs. Jones informed him. “I wouldn’t mind him using the gun, if he’d ask me for it. It’s those sneaking ways of his that annoy me.”
“I know what you mean,” nodded Mr. Hatfield, reflecting upon the missing biscuits. “Well, be patient with the lad. He may develop. And if there’s anything I can do, call on me.”
“If you could round that boy up and send him home, I’d appreciate it,” the widow sighed. “There’s no telling where he is, or when he’ll come dragging in—if at all.”
“You haven’t had any serious trouble with him?”
The widow hesitated. “I haven’t wanted to report his behavior to the Court officials, because if I do, I know they’ll pack him off to the industrial school. I’m trying to give him a chance.”
“But he has caused you worry? There’s more to it than restlessness and running away?”
“Well, a few things have disappeared,” Mrs. Jones admitted reluctantly. “Nothing of much value, but it bothers me.”
“What are some of the things that have been taken?”
“Jack always is sneaking into the ice box. He’ll pack himself a lunch and disappear for hours.”
“A typical boy’s trick.”
“Oh, I’m not complaining about the food. Though it plagues me that he doesn’t come right out honest like and ask for it.”
“The boy takes other things?”
“One of my black silk dresses disappeared. I’d dry cleaned it with gasoline and hung it up in the shed to air out. To tell you the truth, I forgot about it for several days. When I went to get it, well it was gone.”
“What would Jack want with a black silk dress?” Mr. Hatfield questioned dubiously.
“You tell!” Mrs. Jones made a despairing gesture. “He chops wood and then half of it disappears before I can pop it into the stove. I think he carries it off to build fires in the woods and marsh.”
“It’s curious that he would take a dress,” said the Cub leader with a puzzled shake of his head. “The other things more or less fit in with his overpowering desire to lead an outdoor life. But a woman’s dress!”
“It was an old one without much value,” Mrs. Jones admitted. “I liked it though, on account of the pretty jet buttons.”
At mention of jet buttons, Dan shot Mr. Hatfield a quick glance. He saw that the Cub leader likewise was startled by the possibility which presented itself.
“What kind of buttons, were they?” the boy asked.
“Just tiny jet buttons, diamond in shape.”
“If we find the boy, we’ll send him home,” Mr. Hatfield said hastily.
He was afraid that Dan or one of the other Cubs might say something which would further disturb the widow.
Herding the boys together, he led them away from the house. Once beyond hearing of the widow, they all had plenty to say.
“Jack swiped our biscuits all right!” Red said indignantly. “We’re saps to let him get by with it too!”
“We ought to have him sent back to the Child Study Institute!” added Midge. “Who does that kid think he is? We ought to clip his comb!”
Mr. Hatfield had not given much thought to the stolen food. However, he was gravely troubled by Mrs. Jones’ reference to the jet buttons.
“Do you suppose Jack was the one who came to your house that morning?” Dan asked, falling into step with the Cub leader.
“Naturally, it raises a question in one’s mind, Dan. But for the life of me, I can’t understand how he would know about the tin box.”
“Furthermore, he didn’t live here at the time the money disappeared from your house, Mr. Hatfield.”
“That’s so, Dan!” the Cub leader exclaimed, obviously relieved. “For a minute I was afraid of the worst. It only goes to prove one shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Guess I’ve said that a dozen times.”
As the Cubs reached the main road, Chips called attention to a curl of smoke rising lazily from the woods.
“Someone must have a camp fire back in there,” he remarked.
“It’s a rather dangerous place to start a fire,” Mr. Hatfield said. “Suppose we investigate.”
Turning aside from the road, the Cubs climbed a rail fence and made their way through the thickets. Picking a trail carefully, Mr. Hatfield led them single file.
“Quiet, boys,” he advised as Babe kept shuffling his feet through the dry leaves. “No use advertising ourselves.”
Before the Cubs had gone far into the woods, they could smell the aroma of food cooking.
Mr. Hatfield signaled for the boys to slow their pace. Treading noiselessly, they approached with caution.
At the edge of a small clearing the Cub leader abruptly halted.
Eager to see what it was that had drawn and held their leaders attention, the boys closed in about him.
“Can you beat that!” Dan whispered.
Directly ahead was a wind-sheltered hollow, framed by bare trees. A camp fire had been built close to the banks of a winding stream. On a crudely constructed spit, a dressed rabbit slowly broiled over the coals.
The one who turned the spit had his back to the Cubs. He was wrapped deeply in a heavy coat many sizes too large for his lean frame. Beside him lay a rifle.
But even though the Cubs could not see the lad’s face, they recognized him instantly. The one who sat so contentedly by his fire, gazing off into space, was Jack Phillips.
CHAPTER 15
A Hint from Jack
Mr. Hatfield did not fail to note the rifle, which he knew had been taken from Mrs. Jones’ home. Undoubtedly it was loaded, he reasoned. If Jack were disposed to make trouble, he easily could do so.
Saying nothing to the Cubs of his misgivings, the Cub leader stepped boldly into the clearing.
Hearing the crackle of a stick, Jack whirled around.
Instinctively, he reached for the rifle. Then, recognizing Mr. Hatfield, he merely allowed his hand to rest on the butt. His attitude however, was wary.
“How are you, Jack?” the Cub leader greeted him. “A nice little camp you have here. Did you shoot the rabbit yourself?”
“Who else?” Jack retorted a trifle defiantly.
“You did a good job of cleaning it too,” the Cub leader praised him. “I can see you’re handy and know how to get along.”
Jack made no reply. Guardedly he eyed the Cubs, who gradually had circled in around the camp fire.
“No biscuits?” demanded Red, scanning every inch of the camp.
“I never learned how to bake ’em,” Jack admitted, relaxing a bit. “You have to have an oven for that.”
“A reflector oven isn’t hard to make,” Mr. Hatfield said. “Any of the Cubs could teach you.”
“They could?” Jack gazed at the boys with new respect. “I’d sure like to learn.”
“You come with us on our next hike, and we’ll show you,” Mr. Hatfield promised.
“But I’m not a Cub.”
“That makes no difference. Glad to have you.” Jack’s face lighted up, and then the old look of frustration returned.
“Thanks,” he said, “but I can’t make it. The Widow wouldn’t let me go. She keeps me chop, chop, chopping wood night and day.”
“You seem to be enjoying yourself now,” Brad remarked significantly.
Jack stirred the coals and replied: “Oh, I ran off. She’ll switch me when I get back. It only tickles though.”
Mr. Hatfield squatted by the fire and said in a friendly way: “How are things working out, Jack? You don’t much like it at the Widow’s place?”
“Oh, she’s okay, I guess,” the boy admitted grudgingly.
“She makes you work too hard?”
“I have to chop a lot of wood. I hate that. The other work isn’t so bad.”
“Mrs. Jones doesn’t have much money or any man to help her about the place. Jack, she really needs you.”
“I guess so,” the boy admitted uncomfortably. “I’ve been trying to please her. It’s just—well, I can’t stand being cooped up in the house all the time. Every so often I have to get away or I’ll pop wide open!”
“I understand,” the Cub leader said. “Had that feeling myself when I was a boy. I never gave way to the urge too much, and I made a point never to take anything that didn’t belong to me.”
Jack rocked back on his heels, regarding the Cub leader with hostility.
“What do you mean by that crack?”
“Didn’t you swipe our biscuits?” Red demanded before Mr. Hatfield could speak.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Someone took them from our camp,” Red went on, ignoring Mr. Hatfield’s warning glance. “If you didn’t swipe ’em—”
“Well, I didn’t and you better not accuse me! I’ve been right here for the last forty minutes.”
“You’re using Mrs. Jones’ rifle!” Red accused, refusing to be checked.
“Why not? She never touched it. A rifle was meant to be used not left to rust.”
“Mrs. Jones thinks you’ve been taking things from her.”
“That’s a black lie!”
“Cord wood for instance.”
“What would I steal wood for, when I have to keep chopping more to replace it?” Jack shouted furiously. “Use your head, or haven’t you got one?”
At this point, Mr. Hatfield warned Red to drop the argument.
“Sorry,” the boy mumbled.
Jack however, was not willing to allow the matter to pass.
“What else did Mrs. Jones say I took?” he demanded.
“I don’t recall that she accused you,” Mr. Hatfield answered. “She merely was disturbed because of the wood and a few other trifles.”
“Someone else had been taking that wood. What else did she say was missing?”
“A black dress,” Dan answered. “One with jet buttons.”
“Of course we don’t think you’d have any use for a woman’s dress,” Dan went on, watching the boy intently.
Jack made no reply. After a long while, he said:
“I didn’t take that dress. If I were a mind to though, I could tell you something about it!”
“Suppose you do just that,” Mr. Hatfield encouraged him.
Jack smiled in a superior, insolent way. The wave of friendliness which he briefly had displayed, now was entirely gone. Once more he seemed the arrogant, defiant runaway.
“Why should I tell you anything?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do, Jack. We have a particular reason for being interested in what became of that black silk dress.”
“You’ve accused me of being a thief.”
“No, Jack. The Cubs were a bit abrupt perhaps. They believe in being square and honest. Naturally it made them sore to think you might have taken the biscuits.”
“I told you, I don’t know nothin’ about ’em!”
“And we accept your word, Jack.”
“Then you said I took wood and the Widow’s black dress.”
“No, Jack, we merely were telling you what she said. Unfortunately, when one has a past record, it’s apt to plague one unjustly.”
“Sure, I’m a bad kid! I know!” Jack said, his eyes flashing. “Okay! Send me to an industrial school! But try to keep me there! I’ll run away a thousand times!”
“You’re talking wildly now, Jack. No one wants to send you away. Quite the opposite. Mrs. Jones likes you. She’s willing to overlook a lot to keep you with her.”
“She’s been pretty decent to me,” Jack admitted, softening again. “I did take food out of the ice box without asking her. Not very much though. Just enough so I could get along out here in the woods.”
“She’s worried about you now, Jack. She asked me to send you home, if I saw you.”
“Oh, I’ll go,” Jack sighed. “I’d intended to anyhow as soon as this rabbit finishes cooking. It’s done now, I guess.”
The boy removed the rabbit from the spit, and salted it, using a shaker which the Cubs were certain had come from Mrs. Jones’ home.
“Have some?” he invited the Cubs.
They declined.
“Well, I’m hungry,” Jack announced.
Dismembering the rabbit, he gnawed at the tough meat. Now and then as he ate, he glanced at the Cubs.
Having finished his meal, he put out the fire and cleaned away the debris. The Cubs noted that he was efficient at it, leaving not a spark which could set off a forest fire.
“I’ll go back to Mrs. Jones’ place now and chop more wood,” Jack said finally, picking up the rifle. “I’ll chop and chop until my hands bleed!”
“I hardly think Mrs. Jones will require that,” Mr. Hatfield said, smiling. “By the way, Jack, who do you figure may be taking that wood?”
The boy gave him a quick, knowing look.
“I don’t stay up nights watching!”
“But you have a fairly good idea where it is going?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Jack, if you wanted to cooperate, you could be very helpful.”
“I mind my own business. That’s more than I can say about some folks.”
His resentment returning, Jack glared at the Cubs.
“You guys think you’re so smart and know so much about camping out and the like!” he scoffed. “Why, you’re babes in the woods! If you weren’t so dumb, you wouldn’t have to ask so many stupid questions. You’d see for yourselves what’s going on around here.”
“Why, you conceited—” Red began, but Dan checked him with a hard kick in the ankle.
“Maybe we are sort of dumb,” Brad said, falling in with Jack’s mood. “You’re probably right, we don’t know what’s going on around here. That’s because we’re not on the scene much of the time. You’re roaming the woods and the marsh every day. I suppose you’ve seen things we haven’t.”
“You’re darn right I have,” Jack boasted. “I could tell you something about that black dress, if I had a mind to! What’s more, I could tell you about the money box—”
The boy broke off, suddenly aware that he was talking entirely too much.
“What about the money box?” Mr. Hatfield asked quietly.
Jack, however, started off through the woods.
“Wait!” Dan called after him.
Jack turned around, but his eyes were unfriendly and defiant.
“You won’t get anything out of me!” he taunted the Cubs. “I could tell you a lot if I wanted to. But I won’t! I’m not forgetting that it was the Cubs who took me back to the Child Study Institute!”
CHAPTER 16
Inside the Log
Jack Phillip’s hint that he was in possession of vital information relative to the missing money box amazed the Cubs.
Even Mr. Hatfield was so taken by surprise that for the moment he made no attempt to detain the boy.
“Say, are we going to let him get away again?” Brad demanded. “He knows what became of that money box!”
“He took it himself, that’s why!” muttered Chips. “Who does he think he is, anyhow? Someone that doesn’t have to obey the law?”
“Jack does have a few things to explain,” Mr. Hatfield said quietly. “Now, take it easy, boys. He’ll not elude us.”
“He’s heading for the road now!” Red said excitedly. “If we don’t stop him quick, he’ll slip away and we may never see him again!”
“We’ll head him off,” the Cub leader replied, undisturbed. “Brad, you and Dan and Midge start through the hollow which is shorter than the path he’s taken. The rest of us will come up from the rear.”
“Sure!” Brad said eagerly. “We’ll get him!”
“Just circle in and don’t use any force. In fact, don’t try to hold him until I get there. He has a rifle, you know. It may or may not be loaded, but we’re taking no chances.”
“We’ll be careful,” Brad promised, already starting off with Midge and Dan.
At a fast lope, the three boys followed the low ground. For a considerable distance they were unable to see the boy they pursued.
However, as they came presently to a rise of ground, they glimpsed him off to the right not far from the main road.
“He’s taking it easy,” Brad said in relief. “I guess he doesn’t suspect we’re following him.”
“Shall we show ourselves?” Dan demanded.
“No need to yet, Dan. The minute we do, he’ll either defy us or start to run. We’ll just keep him in sight until Mr. Hatfield catches up.”
“Sure, that’s what he told us to do,” Midge said nervously. “No telling how the kid may react.”
Without glancing around, Jack made his way directly to the road. Once he paused to stare at the crotch of a tree which had been split by lightning.
Another time, hearing the crackle of a stick, he looked quickly over his shoulder. Brad, Dan and Midge froze in their positions and the boy did not see them.
“He’s heading for the road all right,” Brad observed. “We’ve got to beat him to it.”
Dropping back into the hollow, the three Cubs hastened on. Presently, they emerged at a point where they had calculated Jack would come out of the woods.
Nor were they mistaken. In a moment, before they fully had caught their breath, they saw him coming.
Jack was whistling a slightly off-key tune. Seeing the three boys in front of him, he broke off and stopped dead in his tracks.
The moment was a tense one for the three Cubs. They were relieved though that Jack made no attempt to draw his rifle.
“What’s the idea?” he demanded, trying to shove past them.
The Cubs stood their ground.
“Mr. Hatfield wants to talk to you,” Brad said pleasantly. “You raised a few points.”
“You’ll learn nothing more from me!” Jack retorted. “I told you that! Let me past!”
Brad, Dan and Midge refused to move. Jack glared at them, and then whirled, evidently intending to run.
However, he found retreat also blocked.
During the brief conversation, Mr. Hatfield, his son, Fred, Chips, Red and Babe quietly had come up from the rear.
“What’s the big idea?” Jack repeated furiously. “You got nothing on me!”
At a signal from Mr. Hatfield, the Cubs closed about the boy in a tight circle.
“Hand over the rifle, Jack,” the Cub leader ordered. “You handle it very well for a boy of your age, but you shouldn’t have taken it from Mrs. Jones without her permission.”
“Aw, she never used it.”
“Nevertheless, it was her property. The rifle, Jack.”
The boy seemed on the verge of defying the Cub leader. Then, he thought through the matter, and with a gesture of contempt, extended the weapon.
“It ain’t loaded,” the boy muttered. “You got nothing to worry about.”
Mr. Hatfield checked the rifle for himself, finding that Jack had spoken the truth. Evidently he had used his last shot on the rabbit.
“What d’you aim to do? Turn me over to the cops again?”
“That depends on what you tell us, Jack. From the start, we’ve tried to give you the benefit of every doubt. Your remarks about the tin box, however, were disturbing.”
“I didn’t take the money!”
“No one has accused you, Jack. It’s clear though, that you know plenty about the matter.”
“I read about it in the paper.”
“I think you know more than the facts you have read, Jack. Why don’t you come clean?”
“You turned me in!”
“We’re law abiding citizens, Jack,” Mr. Hatfield argued. “What else could we do?”
“I help only my friends.”
“We are your friends,” the Cub leader insisted. “At least we want to be. Sit down, Jack, and let’s talk this over.”
Mr. Hatfield brushed off a hollow log which had fallen near the fence, and made room for Jack. The other boys gathered around close enough so the Institute lad could not hope to make a break for freedom.
“Jack, can’t you realize that we’re trying to help, not make things hard for you,” Mr. Hatfield attempted to reason with him. “You must return to Mrs. Jones’ home.”
“I was going there anyhow,” the boy muttered, his gaze on the ground.
“You weren’t running away again?”
“'Course not,” Jack said irritably. “I wouldn’t go away and take her rifle. I’m not a thief. She’s been good to me in her way—better than anyone else.”
“I’m glad to hear that!” Mr. Hatfield exclaimed. “I knew you had good stuff if you’d just give it a chance to come out. Now about the money box—”
“I don’t know anything about it.”
“But you hinted—”
“I was just blowing,” Jack said, avoiding Mr. Hatfield’s direct gaze. “All I know is what I read in the newspaper.”
The Cubs were disgusted. But Jack, they knew, did not abide by their standards of honor and fair play.
“Let me go now,” Jack muttered, getting up from the log. “You got no right to keep me.”
“Do we have your word that you’ll return to Mrs. Jones’ house?” the Cub leader asked.
“I told you I would, didn’t I?”
“I’ll accept your word, Jack. And here’s the rifle. When you return it to Mrs. Jones, why not ask her if you may borrow it now and then? She’d likely give her consent and you wouldn’t feel low and sneaking about it. Furthermore, in season you probably could help out by bringing in game for the table.”
“Maybe she would let me take it,” Jack said. “Sure, I’ll ask her next time. I promise.”
Mr. Hatfield smiled and reached out to shake the boy’s hand.
“Good luck, Jack,” he said. “You’ll do all right. I’m confident of it. I—”
An odd expression came over the Cub leader’s face. Without finishing what he had started to say, he stooped down to examine one end of the hollow log.
The Cubs then saw what had attracted their leader’s attention. A bit of water-soaked cloth protruded from the end of the log.
“What’s this?” Mr. Hatfield murmured.
As the boys watched in amazement, he removed a wadded-up garment. The Cub leader shook it out, revealing a woman’s black dress trimmed in diamond-shaped jet buttons.
“Why, that must be the costume stolen from Mrs. Jones’ place!” exclaimed Brad as Mr. Hatfield spread the garment over the log.
“Sure, the same one maybe that was worn by the thief who made off with the money box!” added Dan, becoming highly excited.
Mr. Hatfield carefully examined the diamond-shaped buttons.
“Aren’t they the same as the one police found in your desk?” Dan demanded.
“They certainly look the same,” the Cub leader admitted. “I wonder how this dress came to be in the log?”
“Someone must have stuffed it in here just to be rid of it,” Brad ventured.
His gaze fastened upon Jack Phillips. The boy leaned on his rifle, staring at the dress with a fixed, almost frozen expression.
Observing the odd look of his eyes, the Cubs could not fail to wonder what he knew of the matter.
“Jack,” said Mr. Hatfield, without mincing words, “have you ever seen this dress before?”
“Have I seen it?” the boy echoed indignantly.
“That’s what I asked, Jack.”
“No, I never saw the dress before!” the boy answered sullenly. “What’s more I didn’t put it in this old log! I had nothing to do with stealing your money box!”
“Finding this dress here gave me a bad moment,” Mr. Hatfield said. “Frankly, it’s something of a shock.”
“Well, blame me! I always get accused of everything whether I did it or not!”
“No one has accused you of anything, Jack. We only want to get at the truth of the matter. I have a deep-seated feeling that you might help us, if only you would.”
Jack remained silent.
Mr. Hatfield examined the dress and then wrapped it into a tight roll.
“Jack, we’ll walk along with you to Mrs. Jones’ place,” he said. “I think this is the dress that disappeared from her shed. I want to find out for certain.”
“I didn’t take it,” Jack denied. “What would I want with a woman’s dress? If you go back and tell the widow, she’ll think I stole it! She’ll send me back to the Institute!”
“Not if you tell a straight story, Jack,” Mr. Hatfield reassured him. “Come along, boys. We’re wasting valuable time.”
Jack did not openly defy Mr. Hatfield or the Cubs, but he made it evident by glances he directed at them that he resented their interference.
As the group approached the old farmhouse, Mrs. Jones saw the boys from afar. She was waiting at the door when they came up.
“Well, I see you caught the rascal!” she commented grimly.
“We found him,” Mr. Hatfield corrected. “Jack wasn’t running away though. He said he intended to come back.”
“Jack, why do you do it?” the widow asked, taking the rifle from him. “Haven’t I been good to you?”
“Yes’m,” the boy responded, his eyes on the ground.
“I’ll fix you some victuals. You must be hungry.”
“I’ve had enough to eat. I’m sorry about taking so much from the refrigerator.”
The tight lines around Mrs. Jones’ mouth relaxed. “There! I reckon boys are all alike,” she remarked. “I had three of my own once. I never could break ’em of taking cookies from the jar.”
The widow cordially invited the Cubs into the kitchen. Mr. Hatfield declined the invitation for them.
“Mrs. Jones, here is something we wish to show you,” he said, exposing the rolled-up black gown to her gaze. “Did you ever see this dress before?”
“Land sakes! It’s the dress that disappeared from the shed!”
“You’re certain it’s the same one?”
“Of course I’m certain. Didn’t I wear that dress for six years? Where did you find it?”
“In a hollow log not far from here.”
“Well, of all places! How did it get there?”
“That’s what I’d like to know myself. Dan tells me that someone in a black dress was seen leaving my place on the day the money box disappeared.”
“A jet button exactly like those on the dress was found by police in Mr. Hatfield’s study,” Brad contributed.
“My stars! Then you think the money was taken by someone who wore my dress?”
“Naturally, one wonders,” Mr. Hatfield replied.
Mrs. Jones gazed searchingly at Jack.
“I didn’t do it!” he said, almost fiercely. “Quit lookin’ at me like that! I always get the blame for everything.”
“I’m sure Jack didn’t take the dress,” Mr. Hatfield declared. “As I recall, Mrs. Jones, I believe you said it disappeared some time ago.”
“That’s so! Before Jack came here! Land sakes, I guess we get so in the habit of blaming a boy, that we don’t give him the benefit of any doubt.”
In a gesture of kindness, she reached out and drew the boy to her. He resisted, but as her arm remained firm, finally allowed it to remain thrown around his shoulders.
“I’m fairly convinced Jack didn’t take the dress,” Mr. Hatfield resumed. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid I can’t say I think he isn’t hiding vital information. I believe Jack knows more about the affair than he is willing to tell.”
Mrs. Jones’ arm fell from the boy’s shoulder. Sternly, she regarded him.
“Jack, is that the truth?”