“Given a little time, we may learn that too,” Mr. Hatfield replied, smiling.
Though the Cubs pressed him for an explanation, the Cub leader would not reveal what was in his mind.
“Wait and we’ll see,” he suggested. “And while you’re waiting, don’t forget to practice hard at basketball. It’s more important than ever now, that we prove to Pat and his boys that Cubs can win honorably!”
The loss of the two ice cream freezers and the mystery surrounding them, distressed the Cubs. A dozen questions plagued their minds. Had someone stolen the freezers from the church and given them to the organization just to cause trouble?
Who had tipped Old Terry that the containers would be found at the Cub party? The Cubs kept mulling over the affair and the conviction grew upon them that Pat Oswald had been responsible.
“I wish we never had agreed to play the basketball series,” Midge said gloomily one afternoon the following week when the boys were at the gymnasium. “We’ll be the laughing stock of Webster City if we lose.”
“Not if we lose fair and square,” Dan returned, undisturbed. “It’s no disgrace not to win. After all, it’s only a game.”
“Pat and his boys from Bay Shore way have all but ruined our reputations in this town!”
“The organization is under a cloud,” Dan admitted.
The situation actually was more serious than he liked to acknowledge. Since the night of the party, word had spread throughout Webster City that Old Terry had caught the Cubs with property stolen from the Christian Church basement.
Friends and acquaintances of the Den 2 boys knew that the tale was untrue. Whenever the Cubs encountered others repeating the story, they denied it vigorously. How well their assertions were believed, they could not tell.
Never by word nor act had Mr. Hatfield even hinted that he doubted the Cubs. Repeatedly he assured them that the truth would come out in the end. Yet, sometimes the Cub leader looked so worried, the boys wondered if he weren’t keeping really bad news from them.
Since the night of the party, Dan had seen Pat Oswald only once. The Bay Shore boy had come to the Cub clubroom to ask if the Purple Five might have a final practice in the gymnasium before the Friday night game.
“I suppose so,” Dan had told him. “You’ll have to talk to Mr. Hatfield about it.”
Pat had loitered too long to please the Cubs. Deliberately, he looked over the exhibits, the achievement lists, and especially Fred’s fort.
“Heard your party was a bust the other night,” he twitted Dan. “Someone stole your ice cream, eh?”
“It was a low down trick.” Dan looked the Bay Shore boy squarely in the eyes and Pat’s gaze wavered. “You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you?”
“Who, me? What an idea!” Pat laughed uproarously.
He slipped out the clubroom door before Dan could fire any more questions at him.
The Bay Shore boys practiced the following night at the gymnasium. Brad, who witnessed the workout, reported to the Cubs that the team had improved considerably.
“That Friday game will be no push-over for the Cubs,” he warned. “Dig in!”
The Cubs spent every spare hour at the gymnasium, practicing baskets and working out their team plays. Both Dan and Midge were certain of final selection as forwards. Red and Chips too were improving daily in their ability to guard. Brad, at center, though he did less practicing than the others, was the surest of all the players at handling the ball.
It was Chub who gave the Cubs concern. The youngster tried hard enough, but his fingers seemed coated with grease. Even if he received an easy, straight pass, he missed as often as he caught the ball.
“We’ll have to use Chub as a substitute,” Brad told his teammates. “The only thing is, what if one of the regulars can’t play? Or if he goes out on a foul?”
“Pat’s team is short a good substitute too,” Dan declared. “No use borrowing trouble.”
He was bouncing the ball lazily down the floor, when the gymnasium door burst open. Midge and Red rushed breathlessly in, fairly bursting with news.
“Come on outside, quick!” Red commanded. “Want to show you something!”
Dan, Brad and Chips quickly joined the other two Cubs at the rear church steps. There stood the two ice cream freezers, the lid missing from one of the cans!
“Gosh!” Chips exclaimed, staring. “Where’d they come from?”
“Midge and I just brought ’em from the river.”
“The river?” echoed Dan. “I don’t get it.”
“Midge and I were hiking out that way,” Red explained. “All at once, we came upon these two cans.”
“How did they get there?”
“Someone carried ’em, that’s what,” Red went on grimly. “Pat and his gang, I’ll bet. The kids from Bay Shore play along the river a lot. They’ve made a stick and grass hut down by the Hi-Level Bridge.”
“It was near the hut that we found the freezers,” Midge added.
The Cubs were relieved to recover the missing containers, but uncertain what to do with them. One of the freezers seemed as good as new after they had washed out the metal cylinder which bore traces of melted ice cream. The other can was bent and the lid missing.
“We looked everywhere in the brush for it,” Midge reported. “Couldn’t find it anywhere.”
Brad told the Cubs that not a moment must be lost in returning the stolen property to Terry Treuhaft.
“All we can do is try to explain to him again what happened, and offer to pay for the damaged freezer,” he advised.
“We’ll have to return ’em,” Dan agreed uneasily. “I hate to do it though. This will give him another chance to accuse us.”
No one wanted to be assigned the job of returning the recovered property to Mr. Treuhaft. Because the other Cubs were so reluctant, Dan and Brad volunteered.
Both freezers were loaded into Dan’s little red wagon, and made a tight fit. As the two boys hauled the containers down the street, they imagined that everyone was staring at them.
“I think half the town heard that untrue story about us taking these freezers,” Dan said uncomfortably. “Now folks will think the worst, seeing us haul them.”
“We’ve done nothing dishonorable, Dan.”
“I know that, Brad. All the same, I feel sort of funny. Everyone stares so.”
“We could go down this alley,” Brad suggested, halting the wagon at the entranceway.
“Let’s,” agreed Dan.
They turned into the narrow alley, pulling the creaking wagon down the uneven bricks, past high fences and garbage cans.
Unaccountably, Brad halted so suddenly that the freezers nearly tumbled off the wagon.
“See what I see, Dan?”
Near the exit to the alley, a group of boys were practicing basketball.
A make-shift netting had been attached to the wall, serving as a basket.
“Why, it’s Pat Oswald!” Dan recognized one of the players. “No wonder he has a sure eye for a basket.”
“I’m not blaming him for practicing,” Brad commented in a low tone. “More power to him! But it’s tough to have to do it in an alley.”
“Pat didn’t tell us about not having a practice court.” Dan now felt ashamed of himself for having resented, even secretly, the Purple Five’s use of the church gymnasium.
Not wishing to appear to spy upon the Bay Shore boys, Brad and Dan would have retreated. But as they started to turn the wagon, its squeaking wheels betrayed them.
“Hey, you!” Pat shouted, recognizing them.
Brad and Dan then went on, well aware that the freezers they hauled would create a sensation.
“Where’d you get those?” Pat demanded suspiciously.
Dan brought the wagon to a stop by the high fence.
“Down by the river,” he replied briefly. “Some of the Cubs found them near your hut.”
“Our hut? That’s a laugh! You tryin’ to say we took your old ice cream last Friday night?”
“I’m not making any accusations.”
“Well, you’d better not, that’s all I got to say!” Pat retorted. He glared at Dan, and then turned to his cronies. “Come on, guys! Let’s scram! You can’t have any privacy these days, not even in an alley.”
Dan and Brad watched in amusement as the Bay Shore boys clattered noisily off over the uneven bricks. The thrust about finding the freezers near the gang’s hut had found its mark, they felt.
“Pat looked guilty when he saw these cans,” Brad remarked. “It burns me he’d engineer such a mean trick, especially after the Cubs have been mighty nice about the gymnasium.”
Dan had been studying the make-shift basket netting fastened to the wall. A white chalk line, evidently a foul line marker had been drawn on the alley floor.
“Pat and his boys must practice here often,” he remarked.
“I’d judge so, by the looks of the wall!” In annoyance, Brad pointed to a phrase which had been chalked on the boards.
The wording read: “The Cubs Are Sissies!” And higher up appeared the insult: “Cubs are Crooks!”
Dan dropped the wagon tongue and rushed over to wipe the offending words from the wall.
“This is the limit!” he fumed. “Brad, let’s call off that Friday game! Why should we play with such wretched sports?”
“I know how you feel, Dan,” Brad answered soothingly. “Pat acts like a baby. He wants to get our goat.”
“He’s had mine for a long while.”
“We can’t very well call off the game,” Brad said slowly. “Mr. Hatfield talked it over with me only yesterday. He’s heartsick at the way Pat has been acting, but he thinks we should go ahead and set the Bay View boys an example.”
“I’d rather punch ’em in the nose.”
“Take it easy, Dan.”
“Oh, I’ll control myself,” Dan grinned. “Anyway, I want to lick ’em in that Friday game.”
“That may not be so easy.”
As Brad spoke, his gaze suddenly came to focus upon knife scratchings on the board wall directly behind the other boy. Without saying more, he went over to inspect the deep cuts.
“Another insult to the Cubs, I suppose,” Dan remarked.
Brad’s broad shoulders blocked his view so that he could not see what it was that the Den Chief examined with such intent interest.
“This is something else, Dan,” Brad said, finally moving aside.
On the wall, freshly cut with a sharp knife, were the carved initials: “P. O.”
“Pat Oswald,” Dan identified them. “Seems to me we’ve seen those same initials, before, Brad. I guess we know now, who wrecked the old church building!”
Discovery of the carved initials on the alley wall convinced both Dan and Brad that the mutilation had been done by Pat Oswald.
The Bay Shore boy, they were sure, had a careless habit of using his jack-knife whenever he felt like it.
“These letters ‘P. O’ are made the same as the ones we saw in the old church,” Brad declared, studying the knife cuts closely. “At least I think so. I wish we could compare them.”
“Is this enough evidence to convict Pat?”
“I’m afraid not, Dan. In the first place, being convinced of a thing is a lot different than being able to prove it. We didn’t see Pat carve these initials, nor those on the church pew.”
Dan lost interest in the wall markings. “What’s the use then?” he asked hopelessly. “We’ll never be able to prove anything.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I have a hunch Pat will over-play his hand. He’s so cocky and sure of himself. Given time he may trip himself up.”
“Maybe, but I doubt it. You know as well as I do, that he and his bunch swiped our ice cream, but will we ever be able to prove that either?”
“We may. It takes time, Dan. You’re too impatient.”
“I just hope things turn out the way you predict, Brad. Somehow I’ve got an uneasy feeling about that game Friday night. You sure we shouldn’t cancel it?”
“With at least a hundred tickets sold?”
“I guess not,” Dan admitted. He sighed and started with the wagon and the ice cream freezers on down the deserted alley.
The scheduled basketball game between the two teams had attracted an unusual amount of interest in Webster City. Not only had the parents and friends of the Cubs bought tickets at twenty-five cents each, but a surprising number had been sold to strangers and friends of Pat Oswald and his group.
Though the Cubs had not really expected that the ticket sale would bring in very much, they now realized that it would swell their treasury considerably. The money already was earmarked for the payment of attorney fees, if needed.
After a long, tiring haul, the two Cubs eventually arrived with the freezers at Terry Treuhaft’s cottage. The yard was choked with unraked leaves and the garage doors were locked.
“No one at home,” Dan observed. “Just our luck!”
After rapping several times without an answer, the boys debated what to do. Brad was opposed to hauling the freezers back to the clubroom.
“We could leave them here,” he suggested.
“Wouldn’t it be better to take them back to the church? That’s where they belong.”
“All right,” Brad agreed. “After we get home, I’ll telephone Terry or one of the trustees so they’ll know we returned them.”
The old Christian churchyard looked more forlorn than ever as the boys presently came up to it with their creaking wagon. The lawn was deep with crackling brown leaves which filled shoes with a fine dust.
“Say, we could build a dandy fort here,” Dan remarked.
“And get run off the premises again! Nothing doing.”
Dan grinned goodnaturedly, for the idea had not been a serious one. He was as eager as Brad to be rid of the ice cream freezers and be on his way home.
“Where’ll we leave ’em?” he asked. “Not out front.”
“No, they’ll be safer around back.”
The boys circled the church, finally halting by a rear door which led down into the basement.
“Why, it’s open!” Dan exclaimed.
Someone had left the door unlocked, for it stood an inch or two ajar.
“Maybe Terry is here, or one of the trustees, Dan!”
Cautiously, the Cubs opened the door wider. They could see no one in the dark hallway. Nor could they hear anyone moving about inside the old church.
“Anyone here?” Brad finally shouted.
His voice echoed faintly, but there was no other sound.
“Queer,” the Den Chief muttered. “The church is empty. But this door shouldn’t have been unlocked. No wonder so much damage was done here. Terry isn’t as careful about looking after the place as he’d have the trustees believe.”
“So long’s the door is unlocked, why not take the freezers down into the basement where they belong?”
“We-ll,” Brad hesitated. “Think we should?”
“It will only take a jiffy. They’ll be a lot safer there than setting outside where anyone coming along could grab ’em.”
“Okay,” Brad consented. “Let’s be quick about it though. I’d hate to have Terry or one of the trustees catch us here. Then they’d really have a complaint.”
With dispatch, the Cubs unloaded the first freezer and carried it between them to the cellar. The main furnace room was damp and musty. A rat scurried past, nearly brushing Dan’s leg.
“Woops!” he exclaimed, shivering. “I don’t like this dark old hole, Brad.”
“Weren’t you the one who wanted to bring the freezers down here?” Brad reminded him with a chuckle. “That old rat won’t hurt you. He was more scared than you are.”
“Who says I’m scared? It just startled me, that’s all.”
The boys carried the freezer into the fruit closet. Nearly all of the long shelves which lined the wall were empty. A few cans of homemade fruit, evidently abandoned when the church was closed, remained. Dan noticed that a can of peaches and one of strawberries had been broken open.
“Come on, let’s get that other freezer and be out of here,” Brad urged. “No time to start looking around.”
In haste, they went upstairs again to fetch the second container. Brad breathed a relieved sigh when it was safely on the shelf.
“That’s done,” he declared. “I’d hate—”
“You’d hate what?” Dan demanded as the other suddenly broke off.
“Nothing. Let’s get out of here.”
Dan knew from Brad’s odd manner that something had startled him. As for himself, he had heard no unusual sound.
“What was it?” he demanded, dropping his voice to a half-whisper.
“Don’t start whispering or you’ll give me the jitters,” Brad scolded.
“You did hear something?”
“Just the creaking of a board.” Brad forced himself to be indifferent. “But what of it? This building has been closed up for a long while and the wood is dry. It wasn’t anything.”
“Let’s go,” Dan urged, leading the way up the dark stairs.
Though he wouldn’t have admitted it, he too felt suddenly uneasy. In a way, it had been foolish of them to enter the empty building. If someone should find them there, it might be all but impossible to convince anyone of their true purpose.
The Cubs relaxed a bit as they reached the top of the basement stairs. Their fear of not being alone in the building began to ebb.
“Say, while we’re here, I might take another quick look at those initials that were carved on the church bench,” Brad proposed. “I’ll probably never get another chance like this.”
“Okay,” Dan agreed reluctantly. “But make it snappy.”
While Brad went into the main part of the church, the denner remained in the vestibule. He caught himself shivering. Nervousness? Or was it the chill wind which came in occasional drafts down the circular iron stairway leading to the belfry?
“I wish Brad would hurry,” Dan kept thinking.
He was annoyed by his own uneasiness. What was it about this old church building that always gave him the same uncomfortable feeling? Why did he have that vague sensation—a sort of conviction that someone was watching him? Every crack and cranny of the vestibule seemed to have leering eyes.
Dan began to think of the first day he had visited the place. Chub too had been uneasy. Even then there had been strange sounds, a tapping bell, a shadowy figure in the church graveyard. And why had the church door been left unlocked?
A slight noise which he could not immediately localize, caused Dan to stiffen. Had the sound come from the belfry room? A bat, perhaps.
Dan listened intently. Distinctly, he could hear tiptoeing steps on the iron stairway! Someone was up there, stealthily descending!
Panic momentarily overcame the boy. “Brad!” he yelled. “Brad!”
It was reassuring to hear the older Cub yell: “Coming!”
“What’s wrong?” Brad demanded, popping into the vestibule. “You look as if you’d seen a ghost.”
“I didn’t see anything, but I have a bad case of the jitters,” Dan admitted sheepishly.
“It’s time we quit this place anyhow,” Brad replied. “I’m sure those carved initials on the pew are the same as the ones we saw in the alley. Pat Oswald must have carved them both.”
Dan nodded scarcely listening. He cast an uneasy glance toward the iron stairway.
“Say, what’s wrong with you anyhow?” Brad demanded.
Dan was ashamed to tell him of his fears. Now that Brad was with him again, he didn’t feel as nervous as before. Like as not he’d allowed his imagination to play tricks on him again.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he muttered. “Let’s go.”
They left the vestibule. Dan reached for the knob of the rear, outside door. When he twisted it, an empty feeling came into his stomach. He tugged, but the door refused to budge.
“Stuck?” Brad asked, moving close.
Dan’s lips had drawn into a tight, white line. “Not stuck,” he managed in a faint voice, “Locked!”
“Locked?” Brad repeated, stunned by Dan’s disclosure. “Why, it couldn’t be.”
He went quickly to the door to test it for himself.
“We’re trapped in here,” Dan gasped, truly unnerved. “Someone must have come along and locked us in. What’ll we do?”
“Take it cool, for one thing,” Brad replied, forcing himself to remain very calm. “Hey, look here!”
He pointed to the bolt which had been shot into place from the inside of the building.
“Well, what d’you know?” Dan mumbled.
“In your excitement, you must have locked that door yourself.”
“I never did!” Dan denied. “I haven’t been near this door since we came in and toted the freezers downstairs.”
“Then how’d it get locked from the inside? I know I didn’t do it.”
As the full realization of what could have happened, dawned upon the two, they stared at each other an instant. Neither voiced the thought that someone might be in the building with them, but Dan involuntarily raised his eyes toward the darkening belfry steps. Those creaking sounds he had heard now seemed to have significance.
“Let’s see if we can get out of here,” Brad said gruffly.
The bolt stuck. He struck it sharply with his fist, and it flew back. The door opened readily.
“That’s a relief!” Dan exclaimed, drawing a natural breath again. “And how!”
The two cubs hurriedly left the building. Having no key, they could not lock the church door from the outside.
“Anyway, we’re leaving it just as we found it,” Brad said. “Dan, you’re sure you didn’t slip that bolt in an absent-minded moment?”
“Positive.”
“So am I.” Brad frowned thoughtfully. “It must have been done while we were in the cellar. But who did it?”
“And what became of the person who locked us in?” Dan demanded in a hushed voice. “Do you suppose—?”
“He, she or IT is still in there?” Brad finished the sentence.
“You have to admit it’s sort of spooky.”
“It’s disturbing all right,” Brad agreed. “Maybe we were locked in by accident. But if so, someone had to be in that church. And that someone must be still there.”
The Cubs gazed reflectively at the old building. Despite their suspicion that it might have an occupant, nothing could have induced them to return for an inspection.
“Maybe it was Terry,” Brad said doubtfully. “He could have heard us inside, and played a joke.”
Dan shook his head. “It wasn’t Terry, I’m sure, Brad. If he had caught us there, he would have raised cain.”
“I think so myself.”
Dan indicated the little red wagon which had been used to haul the freezers. He pointed out that anyone approaching the old church certainly would have seen it and know of their presence inside the building.
“Someone did it to scare us away, Brad,” he declared. “I didn’t tell you, but I was sure I heard footsteps on the stairway leading to the belfry.”
“You think someone may have been hiding there, Dan?”
“I’m wondering.”
“Not one of Pat’s gang, I hope.”
“This old church is awfully close to the river and the railroad tracks,” Dan remarked. “Someone could be using the place without the trustees knowing. I suspect Old Terry isn’t as careful about keeping windows and doors locked as he’s supposed to be.”
“We could go back inside and check—”
“Not now, anyway,” Dan said quickly. “We’re in enough hot water as it is.”
Brad agreed with the denner that it would be unwise to investigate further that day. He proposed, however, that they inform Mr. Hatfield of their findings, and also Terry Treuhaft.
The very next day, Dan ran into the old caretaker on a downtown street. Drawing him into conversation, he told of finding the unlocked door.
“How’d it get unlocked?” Terry demanded. “I never left it that way.”
The caretaker was not as angry about the Cubs returning the ice cream freezers as Dan had expected him to be. Encouraged, he even dared reveal that the lid to one of the containers was missing.
“Yeah?” Old Terry grunted. “I reckon it can’t be helped. Anyhow, those freezers ain’t been used in years.”
“Seemingly, they intend to go ahead with their court action,” the Cub leader informed the boys. “We’ll have to hire ourselves a lawyer.”
Advance ticket sale for the Friday night basketball had been very large. On the evening of the game, the gymnasium was packed.
“Say, I’ll bet we’ve taken in twenty or thirty dollars at least!” Fred Hatfield excitedly reported to the other Cubs. “This will be a big boost for our treasury.”
Game time was at seven o’clock. Shortly before the hour, Pat Oswald and his four players trotted out on the floor to practice a few baskets.
“Get a load of those suits!” Chips muttered to Dan.
The five players wore new, bright-hued purple sport shirts. By contrast, the Cubs had non-descript shorts and shirts, no two alike.
“And look at that guy shoot baskets,” Chips went on gloomily. “He can’t miss!”
He nodded his head toward Pat, who was winning applause from the crowd by his dead-aim at the basket.
“Just get in there and guard him,” Dan urged. “Don’t let him get a chance a throw.”
Dan gazed at the caretaker in sheer amazement, wondering if he were ill. Why this sudden change of heart toward the Cubs?
“Thanks for the tip about the door,” Terry said. “I’ll check up on it right away.” He started off, then paused and said awkwardly: “About that suit the trustees are threatening to bring—”
“Yes?”
“Just wanted you to know, I kinda changed my ideas about the Cubs.”
“Then you realize we had nothing to do with wrecking that building or taking the freezers?”
“I been checkin’ around,” the caretaker admitted. “Folks everywhere have a good word for the Cubs.”
“I wish you could convince the trustees they should drop their action.”
“That won’t be so easy, Dan,” Terry sighed. “Mr. Maxwell is a determined man. I’ll put in a good word though for the Cubs.”
“Thanks,” Dan said gratefully. “Thanks a lot.”
The next few days he waited expectantly, hoping that very good news would come of his talk with Terry. When nothing happened, he and the other Cubs became discouraged again. From Mr. Hatfield they learned that apparently there had been no change in the attitude of the church trustees.
The game began with one of the high school teachers, Jim Veeley, acting as referee.
Midge and Dan played as forwards, Chips guarded Pat Oswald, and Red was assigned to another bulky player. Fred and Chub sat on the sidelines as substitutes.
Brad, several inches shorter than his opponent at center, missed the toss-up. The Purple Five gained possession of the ball. Back and forth they passed it, jeering at the Cubs. Then they fed it to Pat.
Before Chips could come awake, the Purple Five forward brushed roughly past him. Quick as a cat, he dribbled directly under the basket, and hooked an easy one through the netting.
The Purple Five had scored in the first minute of play!
A ripple of applause came from the audience for the basket had been a pretty one. On the south side of the gymnasium where rooters for the Bay Shore boys had congregated, loud cheering broke out.
“Get in there, Cubs!” rooters for Den 2 called. “Come on!”
The Cubs were on their toes now, determined not to let the Purple Five score again. But they couldn’t seem to get their hands on the ball.
Pat was a one-man team, darting here, there everywhere. Poor Chips was winded trying to keep up with the fleet-footed forward. Repeatedly, the Purple Five scored, while Dan managed only one basket.
As the Purple Five’s score climbed, Pat became even more flashy and bold. He’d shove Chips aside to snatch the ball, and twice he jabbed him with his elbow. Twice the referee warned him for roughness. Then he called a personal foul.
A howl of indignation went up from the section of Bay Shore rooters.
“Served Pat right!” Chips muttered. “He’s been getting by with murder.”
He took his place on the freethrow line, waited for the noise to subside, and tossed the ball. It went through the netting, tallying a point for the Cubs.
After that, two other fouls were called in rapid succession on Pat. In each instance, the Cubs scored on the freethrow.
When the half finally ended, the score stood 10 to 5 in favor of the Purple Five.
As the boys rested, Mr. Veeley came around to speak to Pat.
“One more foul and you’ll be out of the game,” he warned. “Better watch it next half.”
The game began again and Pat observed the rules more carefully. But now, instead of trying repeatedly for the ball, he would bounce it lazily back and forth among his teammates. Clearly, the Bay Shore boys meant to play a delaying game.
“Break it up! Break it up!” shouted the rooters.
The Cubs tried their best. Seeing the ball coming toward him on a straight pass, Dan reached for it.
At that instant, Pat darted in, striking the Cub’s arm just as his fingers would have closed upon the ball.
A howl of anger arose from the crowd. Mr. Veeley held up his hands in signal of another personal fowl on Pat.
Dan made the free throw. Pat was ordered off the floor.
“You can’t do that,” he protested. “We don’t have any regular substitute.”
His arguments were unavailing. Pat finally left the floor, muttering to himself. A lean, lanky substitute took his place.
After that, it was a losing game for the Purple Five. With Pat on the sidelines, the team collapsed.
The Cubs brought the score even, and then Dan dropped three baskets in succession to win the game by a six point margin.
“Well, we won, boy!” Brad declared as they trotted off the floor after the final whistle had blown. “You were great, Dan!”
“We didn’t have too much competition after Pat went out of the game,” Dan replied, brushing dirt from his shorts. “I wish we could have won with him opposing us.”
“It was his own fault,” Brad shrugged. “Mr. Veeley warned him.”
The Purple Five and their rooters took defeat with poor grace. There were mutterings of “We were robbed!” and remarks that the referee had been unfair.
“Maybe you want to call off the other two games,” Brad suggested quietly to Pat.
“No such thing,” the other boy retorted. “Next time we’ll lick you so you’ll never forget it. Besides, we need the cash.”
“What d’you mean?” Brad demanded, already guessing the answer.
“The gate,” Pat explained with an impudent grin. “You Cubs took in a lot of dough tonight. Well, we want our share. Half of it belongs to us.”
Word spread around the gymnasium of Pat’s outrageous demand. Brad and Dan brought Mr. Hatfield, fully expecting him to reject the request.
“Pat, you feel you should have half the money?” the Cub leader questioned him.
“Sure.” The captain of the Purple Five eyed the group of Cubs defiantly. However, his gaze wavered under the level scrutiny of Mr. Hatfield. “We earned it, didn’t we? What’s more, we’d have won the game, if we hadn’t been cheated.”
“Cubs do not cheat,” Mr. Hatfield replied. “When you know more about the organization, you’ll understand that. We play according to the rules, that’s all.”
“You make ’em to suit yourselves,” Pat growled.
“On the contrary, you’ll find them all printed in the official rule book on basketball. It might be well for your team to study up a bit before the next scheduled game.”
“We’ll study all right! Now, how about the dough? You’re holding out, I take it?”
“If you feel you’re entitled to a share, you may have it,” Mr. Hatfield said. He turned to Dan, saying: “Go bring Mr. Holloway. He has all the money we collected tonight.”
Dan’s jaw dropped, but he obeyed the order without question. What had come over the Cub leader anyhow? Pat and the Bay Shore boys certainly hadn’t done anything to earn any of the money! Why, the Cubs had sold nearly all of the tickets. Besides, the organization would be expected to pay the church a small fee for use of the gymnasium to cover lights and heating. It was unfair!
Mr. Holloway came quickly, carrying a box in which were the receipts. He reported to the Cub leader that the correct total was $30.80.
“Pat here demands half as his share,” Mr. Hatfield said. “I’ve told him that he may have it. The Cubs make a point of being honest. We’d rather lose the entire amount than to take one penny that doesn’t belong to us.”
Pat’s cheeks flamed, but he continued to grin in a silly, arrogant sort of way.
Mr. Holloway counted out exactly $15.40 which he poured into the boy’s hands. “Sure it’s enough?” he asked.
“We’ll make it do.”
As he pocketed the cash, Pat’s gaze again swept the group of Cubs. Though no one spoke, their silence made him fully aware of their contempt. He hesitated and for just an instant, Dan thought he intended to return the money. Then, with a shrug, Pat was gone.
Once his footsteps had died away, the Cubs gave vent to their anger. Mr. Hatfield allowed them to have their say without comment. He did not try to explain his action in giving the money to Pat. His only remark was: “I’m trying a little experiment, boys. Let’s wait and see.”
While the talk was at his height, Fred came rushing into the gymnasium.
“Hey, come quick!” he urged.
“What’s wrong?” Brad demanded. “Anyone hurt?”
“Come on and I’ll show you,” Fred answered, motioning for the boys to follow him upstairs to the clubroom. “I’m so mad I could chew nails!”
The Cubs, followed by Mr. Hatfield and Mr. Holloway, hastened up the stairway. Fred dramatically flung open the clubroom door.
“Just look!” he exclaimed. “This must have been done only a few minutes ago.”
The cardboard fort which had been built with such painstaking care, lay demolished on the floor.
“All my work—gone!” Fred said.
No one spoke for a moment. Everyone felt sick at heart. All the Cubs had been proud of the fort and knew that Fred had spent hours of time completing it.
“This was wrecked right after the game,” Fred said bitterly.
“How do you place the time?” Mr. Hatfield’s voice was quiet though troubled.
“I dropped in here for a minute between halves of the game. The fort was okay then. When I came upstairs just a bit ago, this was what I found!”
“Pat or some of his gang did it,” Chips announced with finality. “That’s all the thanks we get for giving ’em half the money.”
“I didn’t think they’d do a trick like this,” Mr. Hatfield said. “I’d hoped—well, I thought Pat had good stuff in him buried deep down in. Seems I was mistaken.”
“We ought to report this to the police,” Red said indignantly. “Want me to call ’em?”
“No, Red. This is hardly a case for the police.”
“How about those other two basketball games?” Midge asked. “Will we play them?”
“That I think, is for the Cubs to decide. After what happened tonight, I’m sure we’d be justified in cancelling.”
“Only trouble is that if we do, they’ll go around Webster City calling us yellow,” Brad said. He began picking up the scattered sections of the destroyed fort. “I say, let’s play the series, and lick ’em.”
The debate waxed warm for a few minutes. Finally, however, a majority of the Cubs voted in favor of carrying on the series.
“Very well, if that’s the decision,” Mr. Hatfield said. “One thing, though! The game must not be used as a means of venting spite on the Bay Shore boys. If we play them, we must conduct ourselves as good sports. Agreed?”
The next game had been scheduled for the following Friday. With Pat and his players claiming half the receipts, the Cubs had far less enthusiasm for selling tickets during the week. Nevertheless, news had traveled that the game would be a good one. Accordingly, many persons stopped the Cubs on the street to ask for the tickets.