“See you soon again, old man!”
“Yes, we’ll get together in a couple of weeks. I’ve got to spend some time with the folks.”
“I’ll write when I have the camp site all arranged for.”
“And don’t forget to plan for plenty of grub!”
“I want a soft cot, anyhow.”
“Say, what about the girls? I suppose there’s no doubt about their going to Crest Island?” and Sid Henderson, who asked this question, interpolating it among half a dozen others, as well as amid numerous interjections, looked anxiously at Tom, as the four chums were saying good-bye preparatory to dispersing for the vacation.
“Of course they’ll go,” declared Tom. “I had a letter from Ruth to-day——”
“You did?” cried Phil. “I’ll have to have a little seance with Sis. She writes to you oftener than she does to me, of late. Tom, you rascal, take care!” and he shook a warning finger at his chum.
“And hark to Siddie, would you!” mocked Frank. “Sid’s so anxious about the girls that he won’t play if they don’t come; will you Siddie?”
“I’ll play my fist on your nose, you old allosaurus!” cried Sid, as he made an unsuccessful reach for his tormentor.
Books had been put away in the study of our heroes. The armchairs had been covered with dust-cloths, as had the creaking old sofa; the alarm clock had been wrapped in cotton, and put on the shelf. Its tick would not be heard until September. It would have a vacation, too.
Randall College began to take on a deserted air, but there was still some activity around the boathouse. The shells were to be kept ready for use—the eights, the fours and the singles. For Mr. Lighton had urged all, who could, to come, if only for an occasional spin on the river to keep in condition.
As we know, our friends had arranged to camp on Crest Island, and from there, as they had a boat, they could take a run down to Randall, and get in a four for practice. If they could get four others, and someone to act as coxswain, they would also row in the eight, they told the coach.
“An excellent plan,” he declared. “It will give us a good crew for the eight in the Fall, I’m sure.”
“The only drawback about Crest Island,” said Phil, “is that Bossy is going there. He’ll be an unmitigated nuisance, if I’m any judge of human nature.”
“Especially if he does as he says he will, and takes to practicing in a single,” added Tom.
“But the island is big enough,” added Sid.
“Even if the cottage his folks have taken is near the Tylers’,” put in Frank, with a grin.
“Is it?” asked Sid, eagerly.
“It sure is.”
“Then he’d better look out!” declared Sid.
“What’s the matter? Afraid he’ll take your girl?” asked Tom, with a laugh. But Sid did not reply.
Nothing more had been discovered about the missing jewelry, nor had Tom and his chums been able to follow the clues which they had stumbled upon. The torn handkerchief, the empty jewelry box, the shreds of silk, had been put away, together with Boswell’s card. Mendez, the Mexican, had been seen around Haddonfield several times since Tom and Ruth had met him on the island, and he seemed to be selling his wares, there being little need of his remaining on the island as caretaker all day. Whenever he met Tom, he was very polite, but our hero cared no more for the swarthy man than he had at first.
“He’s altogether too nice,” decided our hero, though he realized this was nothing against the man. Certainly there seemed to be nothing to point suspicion to him, any more than to Boswell, and the four chums did not dare make an untoward move. It was too risky, Frank said.
As for the Boxer Hall lads, though some might have held a faint thought that their Randall rivals were responsible for the loss of the cup trophies, no one said so in that many words. Still many Randallites felt that a grim suspicion hung over the college, caused by the unfortunate fact that Tom and his chums had been first on the ground when the articles were discovered to be gone from the wrecked boat.
“Hang it all!” exclaimed Tom, as he and his chums were about to separate for the vacation, to meet soon again, “I wish we could get on the trail of that stuff, and the man who took it!”
“So do I!” added Frank. “Well, maybe something will turn up this Summer.”
As for Ruth, she had successfully kept her secret with Tom. If her girl friends noticed the absence of her old brooch they said nothing.
Mr. Farson, the jeweler, fretted much over his loss, but it did no good. He even increased the reward, to no more purpose. It all remained a mystery. He did not even know as much as the boys did about the affair, and, for their own reasons, the students kept silent.
Our four heroes dispersed to their homes, to meet warm welcomes there. Then came preparations for going camping on Crest Island. The Tyler cottage was opened by some of the servants and put in shape for Summer occupancy. Madge wrote to Ruth, Mabel and Helen, bidding them get ready to come when she sent word.
Tom spent a week or two at the shore, “recuperating,” as he put it, from the hard study incidental to the examinations.
“I guess, more than likely, it’s to rest from the hard work of pulling in that shell,” said his father, grimly.
Frank Simpson went on a short trip to his beloved California, and Phil and Sid put in two weeks at various Summer resorts.
Finally the time came to go to camp. Tom, who was in charge of most of the arrangements, sent out letters to his chums bidding them assemble at his home, as he was nearest to Randall College.
And, one fine morning, with their baggage gathered, and with their camping paraphernalia sent on ahead, they departed.
“Off for Crest Island, and the mystery!” exclaimed Tom.
“Not so loud!” cautioned Frank.
“Say, rather,” interpolated Sid, “off for Crest Island and—the girls!”
“Hark to the lady-killer!” mocked Phil. “Talk about your Beau Brummels!”
“Punch him for me, Tom,” besought the badgered one.
“Say, did you think to bring any spoons, Tom?”
“What about the condensed milk?”
“And say, Tom, this isn’t a good brand of coffee!”
“What made you get all canned corn? Why didn’t you include some beans, Tom?”
“Say, if I’ve got to eat coffee with my fingers I’m going to quit right now!”
“Look here, Tom! Didn’t I say I wanted a soft cot? You’ve given me one as hard as a board. I won’t stand for it!”
You can easily imagine the scene. The boys had arrived in camp, and were just unpacking. The tents—sleeping and dining—had been erected after much labor, and with the aid of Senor Mendez, who courteously offered his services.
“And for the love of the seven wonders of the world, Tom, what made you buy this brand of canned chicken?” demanded Sid, who was opening a case.
Tom Parsons put down the blanket he was taking out of a trunk. He strode to the middle of the tent, put his hands on his hips, surveyed his three chums, and began:
“Say, look here, you fellows! I’ve done most of the work around this outfit. I saw to it that the baggage didn’t go astray when you chaps were trying to flirt with those pretty girls in the train! I ordered all the eats, and most of the other stuff. I got Mendez to give us a hand, though none of you wanted me to. I’ve looked after everything from A to Z and you fellows have been loafing. And now you jump on me because I didn’t get mock-turtle soup instead of mulligatawny. You don’t like the kind of coffee, and I suppose you’ll faint if you don’t have condensed milk.
“Say, don’t you want finger bowls? Will you have paper napkins, or just the plain fringed style? Do you want your shaving water hot every morning, and what time shall I have the ‘bawth’ ready? Are your nails manicured? If not, I guess I can find time to do that. Would you like silk pajamas, or will linen do? And if there’s anything more that you confounded dudes want in this camp—just get it yourselves—I’m done! DONE! Do you hear? I’m through!” and, fairly shouting the words Tom stalked out of the tent and went and sat down on a log near the edge of Lake Tonoka.
The other three stared at each other in amazement. The rebellion of their chum had come like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky.
“Er—what did—what did we do?” faltered Sid.
“Did you ever hear the like?” came from Phil.
“He’s mad all right—clear through,” spoke Frank. “I guess we have been rather piling it on.”
“It’s the first time I ever knew Tom to act like this,” said Phil, soberly.
“He has done a lot of work,” put in Sid.
“And we have been finding a deal of fault,” added Frank.
“How can we square him?” asked Phil.
“You go out and talk to him, Frank,” proposed Sid.
“No, I’ve got a better scheme than that,” came from the Big Californian. “Let’s finish slicking up in here ourselves, go on and get grub ourselves, and then invite him in. He’ll see we didn’t mean all we said, then.”
“Good idea,” declared Phil.
“We’ll do it,” agreed Sid.
Thereupon, paying no more attention to the justly sulking lad by the water’s edge, the three chums shortly had the sleeping tent in some kind of shape. An oil stove had been brought, and on this some coffee was soon steaming away, while the appetizing odor of ham and eggs wafted itself over the camp.
Through it all Tom never turned his head, nor did his companions speak to him. He must have heard what was going on, but he never acknowledged it. With merry whistles his chums drove away the suggestion of gloom.
“Grub’s ready!” came the announcement of Frank, as he walked over toward Tom. “Wilt your most gracious majesty deign to partake of our humble fare?” and he dropped on one knee, and offered to Tom, on a plate, a slice of bread.
For a moment the tall pitcher held out against the envoy, and then a faint smile broke over his face.
“If you fellows are done finding fault,” he said, “I’ll come in and help. But I don’t like to do all the work, and then have it rubbed in the way you chaps did.”
“That’s right, we did lay it on a bit thick,” admitted Frank, contritely.
“And I got a bit hot under the collar,” spoke Tom, confessing in his turn.
“Come on and eat,” urged Frank. “The stuff is getting cold. It isn’t such bad coffee after all.”
“I paid enough for it,” retorted Tom.
And thus the little cloud was blown away. Soon all were eating merrily. The meal being finished, they began to get the cots in shape, for it was drawing on to afternoon.
The boys had two large tents, one for eating, and the other for sleeping in, and lounging during the day. A smaller one served as kitchen and storeroom.
By evening they were in good shape, and accepted an invitation to take supper at one of the cottages, the owner of which with his wife and daughters, had learned that the boys were friends of the Tylers, who had not yet arrived.
“Well, now for a good snooze!” exclaimed Tom, as they got back to their tent that night, having spent a pleasant evening with the Prudens.
“Did you bring any mosquito netting?” asked Phil. “If you didn’t I——”
“Silence!” warned Frank. “A certain amount of mosquito bites will do us good—put ginger into us for the rowing game.”
“All right—all right!” cried Phil, quickly. “I didn’t mean that,” and he looked quickly at Tom, fearing a return of the morning outbreak.
“When are the girls coming?” asked Sid, as he began to get ready to turn in.
“What do you care?” asked Tom, quickly. “Didn’t I see you trying to hold the hand of that youngest Miss Pruden under the table?”
“Oh, fie!” cried Frank.
“I was not!” cried Sid, indignantly. “She had lent me her ring, and it was so small I couldn’t easily get it off again. She was trying to help me.”
“Say, when you tell ’em, tell ’em good and big!” laughed Tom. “‘When are the girls coming?’ Say, you’re a nice one, you are, and——”
Tom ducked in time to avoid the shoe Sid threw at him.
“Easy, fellows,” cautioned Phil. “There are other people on the island besides us, and they may want to go to sleep.”
“Then make him dry up!” demanded Sid.
“I’ll be good,” promised Tom. “But when you hold hands don’t be afraid to admit it. I——”
The other shoe came in his direction with such poor aim that the candle was knocked over, the lanterns not yet being in service.
“Cheese it!” warned Frank. “You’ll have the place on fire. Light a match, somebody.”
All began groping about in the dark tent.
“Oh, for the love of tripe!” suddenly exclaimed Tom.
“What’s the matter?” asked Phil.
“I stuck my foot in the water bowl!” exclaimed the lad. “It was on the floor. I’m as wet as a duck.”
“Serves you right!” declared Sid vindictively.
“‘Be good, sweet lad, and let who will be clever,’” misquoted Phil with a chuckle.
But finally order was restored, and our friends fell into a deep sleep.
“Well, what’s doing to-day?” asked Sid, after breakfast.
“I vote we take a trip down to college, and see if any of the fellows are there rowing,” proposed Frank. “If we can’t scare up enough to make the eight, we can take out one of the fours.”
“Second the motion,” came from Tom, and the others agreed, too.
They rowed down leisurely, being a bit stiff, not only from their unusual exertions in making camp, but also because they were out of practice. But finally Randall was reached, and, to their disappointment, they found only one or two lads there, practicing in the singles. They all declined to take a try in the eight, as they were going in for the sculling races. Anyhow, there would not have been enough for an eight with a coxswain.
“We’ll have to take a four,” said Tom, with a sigh. “Frank, you’ll have to steer, as you can do it better than any of us.”
A four-oared shell, as I explained, and as doubtless most of you know, is steered by a mechanical arrangement, worked by the feet of one of the rowers.
Soon the four chums were pulling down the river, gaining in skill each moment, as the memory of what Coach Lighton had said recurred to them.
They rowed a good distance, and then drew up at a private float and got out to stretch their legs. As they were about to put off again, an elderly man, with a pleasant face, approached and asked:
“From Boxer Hall?”
“From Randall,” replied Tom.
“Ah, yes, I noticed you rowing in. I think you might improve your stroke a little if you would feather differently. You don’t turn your hands quite at the proper time.”
“You must be an old oarsman?” said Tom.
“Well, I’ve been in the game. I used to row at Cornell years ago. Pierson is my name.”
“Are you that Pierson?” cried Frank, remembering the name as that of one of the best scullers Cornell ever turned out.
“I’m afraid I am,” was the smiling answer.
“Say,” burst out Sid. “Would you mind watching us a bit, and telling us our mistakes? We’re new at it, as you probably noticed,” he went on, “and Randall is just getting into the water sports. We want to beat Boxer Hall. Can you give us a few points?”
“Where are you staying?” asked Mr. Pierson.
“On Crest Island—we’re camping there.”
“So! Well, as it happens, I have friends there, and I have been invited to spend part of the Summer there. If I come I shall be glad to tell you what I know of rowing, and coach you a bit. It is the best sport in the world!” and Mr. Pierson’s eyes sparkled as though he would like to get in the shell himself.
“That will be fine!” exclaimed Tom. “We shall look for you.”
They talked a little longer, the old oarsman giving them some good advice about training. Then he bade them good-bye, and walked off up the hill leading from the river.
The boys got in the shell again, intending to row to Randall, and then back to their camp.
As they neared the college float, and noted the activity of the men building the new boathouse, Sid exclaimed:
“Look who’s here!”
“Who?” asked Tom.
“Bossy, by all that’s tragic! He’s just taking out a single shell. I wonder if he’s going to the island?”
Rowing on up to the float, the four chums took their shell out of the water just as Boswell got his in. He looked over at them, and nodded in what he evidently meant to be a friendly fashion, but which he succeeded in making only patronizing.
“Out for a row?” he asked, needlessly.
“Just a bit of practice,” answered Sid.
“And you’re going in for the same thing, I see,” added Phil.
“Yes, I’ve gone a bit stale since I was here last. I just came back to-day, and I thought I’d take a little row before I went up to our cottage on the island.”
“He’s going there all right, then,” murmured Tom.
“Are you fellows in camp yet?” asked Boswell.
“Yes,” replied Frank. “We haven’t got settled yet, we’ll soon be in shape.” Then, with an effort, he went on: “Drop in and see us—when you get a chance.”
Phil administered an unseen but none the less swift kick to his chum.
“What’d you want to go and do that for?” he asked, in a whisper. It was safe since Boswell was busy rattling the oars in his shell and could not hear distinctly.
“I couldn’t do any less,” retorted Frank. “It would look pretty raw not to ask him.”
“I hope he doesn’t accept,” murmured Sid, and, the next moment the rich lad replied:
“Thanks, but I don’t expect to get much time for calling. I’m going to be pretty busy with my sculling, and I expect a friend or two up. Besides, I never did like a tent. It always seems so musty to me. I much prefer a cottage.”
“Thank the kind Fates for that!” murmured Tom.
Boswell got in the shell, and rowed off, rather awkwardly, the four thought, but then they had yet to see themselves row, though, truth to tell, they were becoming more expert every day.
“I’m going to have a professional oarsman coach me,” Boswell threw to them over his shoulder as he sculled off. “I expect to be in good trim, soon. As long as you fellows didn’t want me in the eight, I’m going to win in the singles, just to show you what I can do.”
“We never said we didn’t want you in the eight!” declared Frank. “In fact I thought you did as well at bow as anyone. It was the coach’s doings.”
“All right,” replied Boswell. “It doesn’t matter. I rather think I prefer this, on the whole. And I’m going to win, too!” he boasted.
“Good! We hope you do!” exclaimed Tom. Then, to his chums he added: “Come on, let’s get back to the island and enjoy it before he starts his monkey business there. I wonder when his cottage opens?”
“I saw a woman and a man working around there to-day, just before we left,” volunteered Sid.
“Then Bossy’s folks must be coming soon—more’s the pity—I mean as far as he is concerned,” put in Phil. “His folks may be decent enough, but he’s the limit.”
“I suppose he and that English pal of his—Pierce—will be drinking tea every afternoon at five o’clock,” said Tom. “They’ll have their cakes and Young Hyson out on the lawn, and—Oh, ‘slush, isn’t it fierce! A bally rotter, dontcherknow!’”
“The Knockers Club will please come to order!” exclaimed Frank, in mock seriousness.
“Say, I guess we have been piling it on pretty thick,” admitted Tom, with a grin. “Let’s get in our old tub, and pull back. It’s my turn to rest this trip.”
Laughing and joking, with occasional references to the proper way to handle an oar, and some talk of the offer of Mr. Pierson to coach them, the lads rowed back to their camp. They spent the next two days in getting the place in better shape.
“For exhibition purposes,” Sid explained. “The girls might come to lunch some day.”
“Say, he’s got girls on the brain!” complained Phil. “Duck him, Tom, you aren’t doing anything.”
But Sid discretely got out of the way.
A day later the Boswell family arrived at the island. There were several servants—almost too many for the simple cottage—and Mr. and Mrs. Boswell, in addition to their son. It was hard to see from whom the lad inherited his unpleasant mannerisms, for both his parents were of the old-fashioned school of gentlemen and ladies, with exceedingly kind hearts. Boswell had evidently been spoiled, unless he did the spoiling process himself, which was more than likely.
When Mr. Boswell learned that some of his son’s college mates were on the island, he paid a formal call on them, and invited them to the cottage. They promised to come—some time.
“When Bossy isn’t home, I hope,” murmured Sid.
Pierce, Boswell’s English chum, arrived that same week, and after that our friends saw little of the rich lad. He and his friend were generally off together in a boat rowing or fishing.
Then another personage made his appearance, an athletic-looking man, whom Boswell introduced as his “trainer.” Then began the instruction in sculling. Tom and the others heard and saw some of it.
“He’s teaching him a totally different stroke than we row,” said Sid. “I wonder if it can be right?”
“I’ll stick to Lighton’s method,” declared Frank.
“Yes, for it’s the same as that used by Mr. Pierson,” added Tom. “It’s good enough for us.”
The Cornell oarsman had paid a visit or two to the lads in their camp, coming from where he was stopping on the mainland, as his friend, whom he expected to visit on the island, had not yet opened his cottage.
Mr. Pierson gave the boys some good advice, and getting into the shell several times, practiced what he preached. He had not forgotten his early skill, and his illustrations were valuable.
“He can pull a good stroke yet,” declared Frank, one day, following some spirited instruction and practice. Mr. Pierson had left, promising to devote more time to the boys later on.
“He sure must have been a wonder in his day,” declared Tom.
It was one morning just after the lads had finished breakfast, and were getting their camp in shape for the day, preparatory to going for a row, that Tom made a momentous discovery.
He had been to the spring for a pail of water, and, on his return he noticed on the porch of the Tyler cottage a number of trunks and suitcases. Then a flutter of dresses caught his eye, and he heard a chorus of musical laughter.
“The girls have come!” cried Tom, and he raced for his own camp, as he had on a pair of old trousers and a disreputable sweater, and wanted to get in more presentable shape for making them welcome.
“The girls have come!” he cried, springing into the midst of his chums with such force that he spilled half the water. “The girls have come!”
“Did you see ’em?”
“Are they all there?”
“What about Helen Newton?”
“Say, where’s my brown suit?”
“Has anyone seen my purple tie?”
“Give me those shoes, Sid! Who said you could take ’em, anyhow—my best ones?” and Phil fairly upset his chum in order to rescue the footgear that had been taken without his permission.
I presume the reader can understand the meaning of the expressions which open this chapter. They had to do directly with Tom’s startling announcement, and who said which or what does not matter. Sufficient to state that Sid, Phil and Frank thus overwhelmed Tom with the above questions.
“I didn’t see any of ’em,” went on Tom, when he could get his breath. “But I heard her laugh——”
“Heard who laugh?” demanded Phil.
“Your sister.”
“I thought you said they all came!” reproached Sid.
“So I did, and so they have. Do you think one girl would have four trunks and four suitcases?” asked Tom, in indignant justification.
“They might—I have known of such,” said Frank. “But are you sure they’re all here?”
“Of course. Didn’t I hear ’em all laugh? Anyhow, Madge must be here, or Ruth wouldn’t be at the cottage. And if two of ’em are there the other two are, too.”
“That’s no reason at all,” said Phil, firmly. “This will have to be investigated. Where’s my clean shirt? I’m going to see my sister!” and he strode into the tent.
“It’s the first time Phil was ever so thoughtful of his sister, fellows. I guess we’d better all get togged up a bit,” said Frank, and the activities, that had begun when Tom came in with the news (which activities had ceased momentarily while the glad tidings were being confirmed), were again resumed.
“Glad rags,” as the lads slangily designated their habiliments, other than the ones in which they worked about the camp, were soon being donned, and a little later the boys were on their way to the Tyler cottage.
“I wonder how long they’re going to stay?” said Sid.
“As long as we do, I hope,” said Tom. “There they are!”
“All four of ’em, sure enough,” added Phil.
“You were a good guesser, Tom, old man.”
“Oh, leave it to your Uncle Dudley!” declared Tom, puffing out his chest. “Little Willie knows what he’s about.”
“Hello, boys!” called Madge Tyler, as she caught sight of the advancing four.
“Welcome to our city,” added Ruth, as she threw a kiss to—her brother. At least Tom said so, when they accused him later of intercepting it, and Tom ought to know.
“Glad you’re here.”
“Isn’t this place lovely?”
“Where is your boat?”
“Have you a motor?”
“Are you going to invite us to lunch in the tent?”
These questions and comments were bandied back and forth among the boys and girls, no one caring very much who said what, so glad were they to see each other, and exchange greetings and experiences.
“We girls just came up this morning,” explained Madge. “We didn’t wait for mother, and father has some tiresome business to look after so he couldn’t come. But I just said that Jeanette, our maid, was chaperone enough, and so we came. I guess the man on the boat thought we had baggage enough.”
“But he was nice about it,” added Ruth.
“Yes, after I gave him a quarter,” explained Helen.
“Oh, you dear! Did you really tip him?” asked Madge.
“Certainly—he—er—well, he seemed to expect it,” and the boys laughed at her naive explanation.
“Won’t you come in?” invited Madge. “It isn’t much of a cottage, and we can’t even offer you a cup of tea, for we’re all out, and I had to send Jeanette for some.”
“Don’t worry about that,” remarked Phil.
“We’ve got all the food we can eat over at the tent,” went on Tom.
All entered the charming little cottage, and the boys told of their experiences since coming to camp, while the girls detailed the happenings of their journey that morning.
A small steamer, making regular trips about the lake, had left them and their baggage at the island, which was beginning to be quite a Summer resort. A new store had recently been built on the place, and provided a variety of articles, including foodstuffs for the cottagers.
“There’s a boat or two with this cottage,” explained Madge. “We’ll have to get them in the water to soak up, I suppose, and then we girls will give you boys some lessons in rowing; won’t we, girls?”
“We might try,” said Ruth, drily.
“Your boats are in the water, I think,” said Sid. “I saw that Mexican ‘take-care’ man, as he calls himself, at them the other day, caulking up some cracks.”
“That’s good,” retorted Madge. “I know father wrote on to have this done, but I’ve been so busy, getting ready to come here, that I forgot to ask if it had been attended to. I wish we had a motor-launch, but father is so old-fashioned, if I must say it, that he won’t hear of it.”
“Haven’t you boys a launch?” asked Helen.
“No,” replied Tom, “but perhaps we can hire one,” and he looked at Ruth, who had been trying to signal him when the Mexican’s name was mentioned.
“That’s a good idea,” declared Phil. “We’ll see about it this afternoon.”
Then Jeanette, the maid, having come from the store with the tea, the boys took their leave, to allow the girls time to change into more comfortable and camp-like garments, and also to enjoy their beverage.
“We’ll see you after lunch,” called Phil.
“We’d ask you to stay,” spoke Madge, “but really we haven’t quite found ourselves yet. Later on——”
“Come on over to our tent,” invited Sid.
“No, thank you,” laughed the young hostess. “Some other time. We have to unpack our dresses, or they’ll get wrinkled.”
The boys thought lunch time would never pass, but it did, though they made a hasty meal of it. Then they hurried back to the cottage, and a little later four pairs of young persons were strolling in four different directions over the beautiful island.
“Oh, Tom!” exclaimed Ruth. “I’ve been just wild to get you alone for a moment to ask if you’ve found out anything about my brooch?”
“Not a thing, Ruth, I’m sorry to say. In fact the whole business is at a standstill. We had some suspicions, but they didn’t lead anywhere, and we’re up against a stone wall so far in the game.”
“Well, perhaps something may develop,” she said with a sigh. “I hope so, for I’m afraid every day some of my folks will discover that I’m not wearing the brooch. When I went to bid grandmother good-bye I wore a large bow tie, so she couldn’t see the place where the pin ought to have been, but wasn’t. Isn’t it dreadful to be so deceitful?”
“Not at all,” Tom hastened to assure her. “It isn’t your fault, and, as you say, something may develop.”
They strolled on, as did the others, and the afternoon seemed wonderfully short.
I note, in looking back over some pages I have written, that I headed this chapter “At Practice,” and really I meant to devote considerable space to detailing the doings of Tom and his chums in the shell, under the guidance of Mr. Pierson. But I find that the girls have taken up such a large proportion of my available space that I have not much left for rowing matters. And, in fact, the boys found themselves in the same predicament. After all, I suppose, it is not an unforgivable crime.
Tom and his chums kept promising themselves, from day to day, after the arrival of the girls, that they would buckle down to hard work in the shell, but each day saw them over at the cottage as early as decency and good manners would allow, and the same thing kept them there as late as possible.
They hired a small gasoline launch, that was continually getting out of order, and stopping out in the middle of the lake. They had to be towed in so frequently that they became very well known. But it was all the more fun.
“There’s something about this launch that you don’t often find,” remarked Frank, one day when they had been drifting helplessly about.
“And it’s a good thing you don’t,” added Tom.
“What I meant,” said Frank, “was that it never gets monotonous. The same thing never happens twice.”
“I should say not,” declared Sid. “Everything on the old tub has broken one time or another, from the old cups to the piston rings, and everything from the spark coil to the batteries has given out! Monotonous? I should say nixy!”
Yet the boys did practice. Frank grew desperate when a week had gone by without their getting into the shell, and he spoke to such advantage, dwelling on the necessity of keeping in condition, that the others agreed with him. So they left the girls to their own devices one morning, and rowed down to college.
They found quite a number of their chums there, and considerable practice was going on. Mr. Lighton had paid one of his flying visits and was giving the lads some instruction.
Our friends told him of Mr. Pierson’s offer, and the coach said:
“You could not do better, boys, than to follow his advice. I wish we could get him to come to Randall in the Fall.”
“Maybe he will,” suggested Sid. “We’ll ask him.”
Mr. Lighton said he had word from Bricktop Molloy, and one or two of the others, that they were getting in some practice during the Summer vacation.
“I hope we have a good eight when college opens again,” he concluded, as Tom and his chums rowed off in the four-oared shell.
Mr. Pierson was staying on the island now, and for the next few days he was with the boys considerably, giving them valuable advice. They kept at practice, setting aside certain hours for it, and manfully withstanding the temptation of going off on little excursions with the girls.
So far as solving the mystery of the missing jewelry was concerned, no progress was made, though the boys talked about it often. The faint suspicions against the Mexican and Boswell were still maintained, but that was all.
As for Boswell, he and his English friend and his “trainer,” as he called the athlete, kept pretty much to themselves. Mendez was the same over-polite Mexican as before. He opened his store, and did a good business, our friends patronizing him to some extent—partly to get a look inside his place. But, though their eyes were used to the best advantage, they saw nothing that would aid them in their quest.
“But I’ll get Ruth’s brooch back yet!” declared Tom, to himself.
“Shoulders back a little more! Heads up! Don’t feather quite so high. That’s all right to do when there are little choppy waves, that would cause splashing, but in calm water the lower you feather the less you have to raise the spoon of the oar. Of course don’t do any ‘riffling.’ That holds back the boat. When I see you in an eight, with a coxswain, so you don’t have to think about steering, I can tell better how you will do.”
This was Mr. Pierson giving some coaching advice to the four boys, who were out in the shell. He was following them in the launch owned by his friend, at whose cottage he was visiting.
“I’m wondering if I’ll have wind enough for a four-mile race, pulling even thirty to the minute?” said Sid.
“And we may have to hit it up to thirty-two or three,” put in Tom.
“Don’t worry about those things now,” advised the Cornell graduate. “They will work themselves out when you get in training. Of course you’re not training now, and that makes a difference. My chief anxiety at present is to get you in the way of taking the proper stroke, to teach you how to sit, how to slide in the moving seats, how to bring your whole weight where it will do the most good, and how to depend on the toe stretchers. Your wind will take care of itself when you get down to hard practice. If it doesn’t—well, you can’t row in an eight, that’s all.”
The old graduate glanced sharply at the lads, and, noting a look of anxiety on their faces, he hastened to add:
“But I’m sure it will come out all right. Don’t think about it. Now then, hit up the stroke a little.”
And so he accompanied them over the course, giving them advice almost invaluable, which they could have obtained in no other way. The boys appreciated it deeply.
Camp and cottage life on Crest Island was endless delight to the boys, even with the hard practice they put in occasionally. I say “occasionally” advisedly, for they did not forget, nor did Mr. Lighton or Mr. Pierson want them to forget, that they were on their vacations. Truth to tell, the girls took much of the time of our heroes. And this was as it should be. We can never be young but once, if I may be pardoned that bit of philosophy in a story book—a bit that is not original by any means.
“Well, thank our lucky stars, we don’t have to grind away in the boat to-day!” exclaimed Sid one morning, as he got up ahead of the others, for it was his turn to prepare breakfast.
“That’s right,” called Tom, in a sleepy voice from his cot, as he turned over luxuriously amid the scanty coverings, for the night had been warm. “I vote we get the launch in running order, if that’s possible, and take the girls off for a picnic.”
“Second the motion,” exclaimed Sid, “with the amendment that the girls provide, and put up, the lunch.”
“We’ll pay for it, if they put it up,” said Frank.
“That’s better,” remarked Phil. “I’ll tip Sis off, and I guess they’ll do it.”
Behold then, a little later, the eight young persons, lively and gay, in the wheezy and uncertain launch, voyaging over the lake toward a distant dell of which they knew, on the mainland, where they proposed to picnic for the day.
They ate the lunch which the girls had put up in dainty fashion, sitting on a broad, flat rock near the edge of the lake, with the wind rustling in the trees overhead, and the birds flitting here and there.
“Isn’t it glorious here?” mused Sid.
“Gorgeous!” declared Madge. “It’s just a perfect day.”
“‘O, perfect day!’” began Phil.
“Cut out the poetry,” interrupted Tom. “There’s a little snake crawling toward you, old man.”
“Oh!” screamed four shrill voices, and there was a hasty scramble, until the snake was discovered to be only a tiny lizard, which the girls declared to be “just as bad.”
Then came saunterings two-by-two off in woodland glades until it was time to think regretfully of returning to the island, for the shadows were lengthening.
It was just as they were about to start off in the little gasoline launch, which, strange to say, had been behaving wonderfully well that day, that they saw Mendez, the Mexican, rowing toward them in a small boat. He seemed in much of a hurry.
“Senors and senoritas!” he hailed them. “Wait a moment, I pray of you.”
“Gracious—I hope nothing has happened at home!” exclaimed Madge Tyler, for her mother was not at the cottage.
“Perhaps it’s a telegram for some of us,” suggested Ruth. “Oh, dear, I do hope I don’t have to go home.”
They all regarded the approaching Mexican curiously.
“Pardon,” he began with a smile that showed all his white teeth, “but I seek Senor Boswell. Is he with you?”
“With us? No,” answered Tom. “He doesn’t train in with our crowd.”
“Most likely he’s having tea on the lawn, and talking about ‘beastly rotters,’” suggested Sid.
“Oh, Sid!” exclaimed Ruth. “He isn’t such a bad sort.”
“Oh, do you know him?” asked Tom, quickly.
“He called one evening,” explained Madge, while just the faintest suggestion of a blush suffused her pretty face. “He and Mr. Pierce.”
“They did!” exclaimed Phil, looking keenly at his sister.
“Hush!” she exclaimed. “Silly boy. Don’t make a scene!”
“Senor Boswell—is he not here?” went on the Mexican, and there was anxiety in his voice. “I was inform that he come off on a boat, and in this direction. I see your launch moored here, and I am of the belief, perhaps, that he may be here. Is it not?” and again he smiled.
“No, he isn’t here, and we haven’t seen him,” said Tom.
“Pardon, senors and senoritas,” said the Mexican, bowing as well as he could in his small boat. “I shall look farther. I have the honor to bid you good afternoon,” and he rowed away, up the lake.
“What do you suppose he wanted of Boswell in such a hurry?” asked Sid in a low voice of Tom, as they were getting in the launch.
“Give it up,” was the answer, but Tom was doing some hard thinking just about that time.
“We’ve got to do some pulling to-morrow,” remarked Frank, as they rowed toward the island. “Mr. Pierson said he’d show us a new wrinkle or two.”
“And we want to begin to hit up the speed a bit,” added Tom.
“That’s right,” agreed Phil, who was fussing with the motor, that missed every now and then.
“But say!” exclaimed Sid. “I thought we were going to take the girls down to watch some of the other fellows row opposite college to-morrow?” and there was a rueful look on his face.
“Well, I know we did speak of that,” said Tom, “but——”
“The implied invitation is declined with thanks,” broke in Ruth. “We girls simply have to do some house-cleaning to-morrow. The cottage is a perfect sight, and it’s sweet of Madge not to have found fault before.”
“Oh, it’s nothing of the sort!” declared the young and pretty hostess. “Don’t decline on that account.”
“No, don’t!” besought Sid.
“But we really must stay home,” declared Mabel. “I know we have upset things terribly, and tossed our belongings about until I’m sure that poor maid must be distracted picking things up. Besides, Mr. Tyler is coming up to-morrow and I know your mother will want the place in some sort of decent shape, Madge. We must stay and help.”
“Indeed, yes,” echoed Helen Newton.
“Too bad!” declared Phil.
“Besides, it’s all you boys’ fault that it is so upset,” went on Ruth.
“How do you make that out?” demanded Tom.
“Why you’re always coming along, begging us to go out with you, and you’re always in such a hurry that we can’t wait to pick up things. So there!”
“Any reason, even if it’s a poor one,” remarked Frank, drily.
They glided along for some time, and then the motor suddenly stopped.
“Now what’s wrong?” asked Frank.
“I knew something would happen if Phil didn’t stop monkeying with it,” declared Tom.
“Monkey yourself!” retorted the lad who had been acting as engineer. “All I did was to screw the spark plug in a bit tighter, and shut the pet-cock.”
“Then you probably cracked the porcelain on the spark plug, and there’s a short circuit,” spoke Frank. “Here, let me take a look, and see what the trouble is,” and as Frank had been successful in times past, when the others had failed, they made room for him at the motor.
He looked it over a moment, and then, seeing that the switch was on, gave the flywheel a couple of turns. There was only an apologetic wheeze.
“He knows so much about motors,” sarcastically murmured Tom to Ruth.
“He knows enough to turn on the gasoline, at any rate, and not try to run the motor with what’s in the carburetor,” snapped back Frank, as he opened the cock in the pipe leading from the tank in the bow. “Who started this motor, anyhow?”
“I did,” confessed Tom, the tables thus being turned against him.
“Next time turn on the gas,” repeated Frank. “It’s one of the first things to do in running a motor-boat, sonny. You may write the word gasoline twenty-five times before you go to sleep to-night,” and all joined in the laugh against poor Tom.
“Huh! I supposed it was always kept turned on,” he said in defense.
“The carburetor leaks a little, so I always shut the gas off at the tank,” explained Sid. “I guess I forgot to mention it.”
“And I can easily guess why,” spoke Frank, with a significant glance at the pretty girl beside whom his chum was sitting.
“Well, it’s another little wrinkle—one of a number—we’ve learned about the boat,” spoke Tom, when they were once more under way.
“All good things have to come to and end, I suppose,” remarked Sid, when they had landed and were bidding the girls good-bye. “But we hope there’ll be more excursions.”
“You can always ask us—at least as long as we’re here,” said Mabel. “Though I’m afraid we’ll have to go next week. It’s been perfectly lovely of Madge to keep us this long——”
“Indeed you’re not going so soon!” declared the hostess. “Why, you haven’t been here any time at all yet, and when you do go I’ll be so lonesome——”
“So will we!” chorused the lads. “Don’t go,” and the girls laughingly promised to stay as long as possible.
True to their determination, the lads went out in the four-oared shell the next day, with Mr. Pierson in the launch to coach them. He put them through some stiff practice, and increased the stroke to a number where the boys were almost on the point of protesting. But they realized that they needed it, though they were glad to stop when the word was given.
“A few days of that will put you in the way of bettering your wind,” said the old college graduate, with a whimsical smile. I have spoken of him as an “old” graduate, but, in point of fact he was not at all an elderly man. I merely used “old” in a comparative sense.
“I wonder what’s the matter with Boswell?” ventured Sid, as they rowed the shell back to the college float, and prepared to motor back in the launch. “I haven’t seen him out practicing to-day.”
“That’s right,” agreed Tom. “And say, did it strike any of you as queer the way that Mexican was looking for him?”
“Somewhat,” admitted Frank.
“There must be something between them,” went on Tom. “I wonder if, after all, it can have anything to do with the missing jewelry?”
“What makes you think so?” asked Phil.
“I don’t know that I do, very definitely. But that Mendez was certainly anxious to find Bossy, though for what reason I can’t even guess. Wouldn’t it be queer if Bossy had found those cups and other things, and gotten rid of ’em through the Mexican, after he found he had carried the joke too far?”
“I believe you,” replied Frank. “But it’s pretty far-fetched to my way of thinking. I’d hate to believe that any Randall man would be guilty of such a thing.”
“So would I,” added Phil.
“Oh, well, I only mentioned it as a supposition,” said Tom, in self-defense. “Anyhow, Bossy sure does practice hard in his single. I guess that trainer of his knows his business.”
“Yes, he’s a good trainer,” admitted Frank. “I’ve heard of him, but it’s pretty near the limit for a fellow to have a private trainer. It’s too much like putting on lugs.”
“It is that,” said Phil. “And I suppose, when we get back in the Fall, about all we’ll hear will be Bossy and his shell.”
“I wonder if he has a chance to win?” asked Tom. “They have some expert scullers at Boxer Hall.”
“Well, they ought to have; look how long they’ve been at it,” retorted Frank.
“I’ll be rather glad to get back to college again,” went on the tall pitcher. “This loafing life is good, but I’m anxious to get in the eight.”
“So am I,” came from Sid, “but it’s sport here,” and he looked toward the island they were approaching, probably thinking of the girls. So far the four chums had not been able to get five others, one the coxswain, with them so that they could row in the eight-oared shell. But the four gave them sufficient practice, Mr. Pierson thought, since, after all, it was a matter of the stroke, and could be acquired in one craft as well as in another.
Meanwhile, a little scene was taking place near the Tyler cottage, that, had our friends beheld it—or, rather one of our friends in particular—might have caused some trouble.
The girls were kept busy with some light housework, helping Mrs. Tyler and the maid, after the boys left. Then, having put their rooms in order they attired themselves in fresh gowns and walked off toward the water. Near the cottage Boswell occupied, the four young ladies met the rich lad and his English chum. The two were out for a walk, and, as the youths stopped to chat for a moment with Madge, whom they had met formally, she could do no less than halt a moment with the other girls, who had been introduced to the lads.
“Come down and I’ll take you out in my launch,” invited Boswell. “I’ve just got a new one, and it’s quite fast.”
“Oh, come on!” cried Ruth, impulsively. “That one Phil and the boys have is so slow, and something is always happening to it.”
“My word! I should say so!” laughed Pierce.
“But we declined an invitation to go out with—our boys,” said Mabel Harrison, in a low voice.
“Oh, well,” spoke Ruth. “They had to go to practice anyhow, and we won’t be long. Come on.”
It was a delightful day, and the invitation was hard to resist. Behold then, as a Frenchman would say, behold then, a little later, the four pretty girls in Boswell’s launch, with himself and Pierce making themselves as agreeable as they knew how. And to give them their due, they knew how to interest girls, and were deferential and polite in their demeanor.
“Your pin is coming unfastened,” remarked Boswell to Ruth, as they were speeding along, and he motioned to a bit of lace at her throat—lace caught up with a simple gold bar clasp.
“Oh, thank you,” she answered, as she fastened it, and then she blushed, and was angry at herself for doing it.
“Where is that lovely old-fashioned brooch you used to wear?” asked Madge, looking at her chum.
“Oh—er—I wouldn’t wear it out in a boat, anyhow,” said Ruth, blushing redder than before. “I—I might lose it. See, wasn’t that a fish that jumped over there!” and she pointed to the left, glad of a chance to change the subject.
“Yes, and a jolly big fellow, too!” declared Pierce. “Why can’t we get up a fishing party, and take you girls?” he asked. “My word, it would be jolly sport! We could take our lunch, and have tea in the woods, a regular outing, dontcherknow.”
“That’s the ticket!” exclaimed Boswell. “Will you girls come?” and he looked particularly at Ruth.
“I don’t know,” she replied and then, in the spirit of mischief, she added: “I’ll ask my brother. Perhaps he’d like to come. He is a good fisherman.”
“Oh—er—it wasn’t so much about the fish that I was thinking,” spoke Pierce, a bit dismayed, and then he dropped the subject.
“Are you fond of old-fashioned jewelry?” asked Boswell, in a low voice to Ruth. “I mean old brooches and the like?”
“Yes—why?” asked Ruth rather startled.
“Oh, I only just wanted to know. I’m a bit that way myself. My mother has a very old brooch that I gave her. I mean it was old when I came across it and bought it. I’ll borrow it some day and let you see it.”
Ruth murmured a polite rejoinder, scarcely knowing what she did say, and then, as one of the lake steamers approached rather dangerously close to the launch, there was a moment of excitement aboard both craft, for Pierce, who should have been steering, had neglected it for the agreeable task of being polite to Mabel Harrison.
But nothing more than a scare resulted. When matters had quieted down, the talk turned into another channel, and Ruth was glad to keep it there.
The topic of the brooch, she thought, was a rather dangerous one for her, since she wanted to keep from her friends, and especially from Tom and her folks, the knowledge of the missing pin. She was hoping against hope that it would be found. She wondered what Boswell meant by his reference, but did not dare ask him.
The ride was a pleasant one, though the girls—all of them—felt that they had, perhaps, been just a bit mean toward their boy chums. Still, as Madge had said, Tom and his friends did have practice.
“We better go back now,” said Ruth, after a bit. “It has been delightful, though.”
“And the engine didn’t break down once,” added Helen.
“Oh I don’t get things that break,” spoke Boswell, with an air of pride. “But you don’t want to go in so soon; do you?”
“We must,” insisted Madge, and, rather against their wishes, the boys turned back.
As Fate would have it, the new launch got to the Boswell dock just as the craft containing Tom and his chums hove in sight. Their wheezy boat puffed slowly along, and as it was steered in toward the dock they had improvised near their tent, the boys saw Boswell and his chum helping the girls out. Then Boswell walked alongside Ruth, seeming to be in earnest conversation with her.
“Say, would you look at that!” cried Sid. “The girls were out with those chaps!”
“And after refusing to come with us!” went on Frank.
“I like their nerve!” declared Phil.
Tom said nothing, but there came a queer look in his eyes.
“Well, I suppose we’re not the only fellows on the island,” spoke Frank, philosophically. “We couldn’t expect them to stay in, waiting for us to come back, on such a fine day as this.”
“But they said they were going to be busy,” objected Sid.
“Oh, well, I guess what they had to do could be dropped and picked up again, when there was a launch ride in the offing,” went on the Big Californian. “We’ll call around after supper and take ’em out. There’s going to be a glorious moon.”
“Fine!” cried Sid. But when evening came, and the others attired themselves more or less gaily, ready for a call, Tom did not doff his old garments.
“What’s the matter, sport; aren’t you coming?” asked Sid.
“Nope.”
“Why not? Ruth won’t want to go unless you’re there.”
“I don’t care. I’m not going. I don’t feel like it.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Nope.”
“What shall I tell her?” asked Sid, looking to see that Phil and Frank had gone on ahead.
“Nothing,” and Tom began filling a lantern, this being one of his duties that week.
Sid stood regarding his chum for a moment, and then without a word, but with a suggestive shrug of his shoulders, went out.