Читать книгу Ned Wilding's Disappearance: or, The Darewell Chums in the City - Chapman Allen - Страница 9

The four chums pitched in with a will and helped Sandy. They did not talk much, for, take it all in all, it was rather an embarrassing situation. Sandy did not know what to say, and the boys did not feel like entering into friendly conversation.

They did not care to be sociable with Sandy after what he had done, not only in regard to refusing them a ride, but in the matter of the oil barge. But they could not see anyone in such a plight as Sandy was, through no fault of his own, and not render assistance.

“The horses took fright and ran away,” Sandy explained, when most of the bags had been piled on shore. “I couldn’t stop ’em. The load was too heavy, and it was down hill.”

The chums did not answer. Sandy did not expect they would. The situation was too novel. But he was grateful for their help, and, doubtless resolved not to act meanly toward them in the future. The trouble with Sandy was he had no strength of character. He was mean in spite of himself, and couldn’t help it.

When the bags were out of the way the five boys, by dint of hard work, managed to right the sleigh, which was a big double bob. It was not damaged to any extent and soon was ready to receive the bags of feed. They were piled in and the horses hitched up again.

“I’m – I’m much obliged to you fellows,” said Sandy in a mumbling tone. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a ride that day.”

Sandy meant that. He was much softened by what the chums had done.

“We’d made up our minds to get square with you,” said Bart, as he fastened on his skates. “And I think we did, Sandy,” and with that the four chums started off down the river, while Sandy drove the horses up into the road.

“Queer way to get square,” murmured Ned. “I’d like to punch his face.”

“This was the best way,” Bart replied, and, somehow, though perhaps they didn’t know just why, the chums agreed with him.

Christmas was approaching, and mingled with the joys of the holiday season, were thoughts in the minds of the four chums and all the other pupils, that school would close for two weeks.

“Next Wednesday is Christmas,” observed Bart one afternoon as the chums were on their way home. “School closes Tuesday for the two weeks, and we ought to mark the occasion in some way. Have you fellows heard of any celebration?”

“Nary a one,” replied Fenn.

“Well, there’s going to be something doing, all right.”

“Who’s going to do it?” asked Ned.

“Well, not the fellow who invited the cow to school,” replied Bart, referring to an incident for which Ned was responsible.

“You, maybe, eh?”

“Maybe,” and Bart winked his left eye.

There was little studying done on Monday of Christmas week, and less was in prospect for the following Tuesday. Some of the classes had arranged for informal exercises in their rooms and later there was to be a general gathering of all the pupils of the school in the large auditorium, at which Mr. McCloud the principal would make an address.

Monday night Bart was very busy in his room. There were odd noises proceeding from it, and when he came down a little later, and asked Alice to sew some strips of red cloth for him, she asked:

“What in the world are you up to, Bart?”

“I’m a knight, getting my armor ready for the conflict of battle,” he replied gravely. “Be ready for me when I return, for I may be covered with wounds and you can get lots of first-aid-to-the-injured practice.”

“Now, don’t do anything silly,” Alice advised.

“Far be it from me to do any such thing. You girls can attend to that part.”

“As if we girls were anywhere near as silly as boys are when they get started,” commented Alice, sewing away at the cloth. “Ouch! There, I’ve pricked my finger!” and she wiped away a few drops of blood.

“Here! Don’t get my uniform all spotted!” exclaimed Bart, as he saw Alice wipe her finger with the red cloth.

“Silly! How is blood going to show on this old red flannel?” asked Alice. “You’ll have to wait, Bart, until I wash my finger in an antiseptic solution,” and, laying aside the cloth, Alice hurried for her little box of remedies.

“I can sew it myself,” declared Bart, and he tried to, but he made awkward work of it, for he used a five cent piece in place of a thimble, at which Alice laughed when she returned. Under her skillful fingers, even though one was done up in a cloth, the work was soon completed.

It was about two o’clock when the pupils were assembled in the auditorium of the High School Tuesday afternoon. Professor McCloud delivered an address on the meaning of Christmas, telling of how ancient people celebrated it, and relating stories of the various nations that had beliefs in myths corresponding to Santa Claus, or St. Nicholas.

“Speaking of Santa Claus,” Mr. McCloud went on, as the closing remarks to his lecture, “I am reminded of – ”

At that instant there was a jingle of bells out in the corridor, and before pupils or teachers, the latter all sitting on the raised platform in front, knew what it portended, a strange sight was presented.

Into the big room came a personage dressed in the usual Santa Claus costume, red flannel striped with white, a big white beard, his clothing sprinkled with something to represent snow, and, over his back a big bag.

But, oddest of all, was a little sleigh which St. Nicholas pulled in after him by a string. Hitched in front of it were eight tiny reindeer, made of plaster-of-paris, properly colored. Each animal was on a stand on wheels, and as St. Nicholas pulled them in with the sleigh, he shook the leading string, on which were bells, so that they jingled musically.

“Merry Christmas to all!” exclaimed St. Nicholas in a deep bass voice. “May I speak to them, sir?” and the figure turned to Professor McCloud, who, entering into the spirit of the occasion, nodded an assent. Neither he nor any of the teachers were prepared for the advent of Santa Claus. Some of the boys had suspected, but they were not sure.

“My sled and reindeer shrunk as soon as I struck this climate,” Santa Claus went on in his deep tones, which Ned was puzzling his brain over. He was wondering where he had heard them before. “Still I managed to come,” the red-coated figure went on. “I have a few gifts for some of the more faithful of my subjects.”

He slung the bag from his shoulder and began groping in it.

“Is Lem Gordon here?” he asked.

“Step up, Lemuel,” said Professor McCloud, for, though he did not know what was coming, he was willing to let the pupils have fun on such an occasion as this.

Rather sheepishly Lem, the pitcher on the High School nine, left his seat.

“I have heard of your good work last season,” Santa Claus went on, “and, as a reward for it I have brought you this. May it help you to win many games.”

With that he handed Lem a red, white and blue striped rubber ball, the kind given to babies so they can not hurt themselves.

The other pupils burst into laughter, and Lem blushed. He acted as though he was going to throw it at the head of St. Nicholas, but thought better of it and went to his seat.