Читать книгу The Girls of Central High on Track and Field - Morrison Gertrude W. - Страница 3

“Why! I think this is outrageous,” said Nellie Agnew. “We ought to find a constable and have such a thing stopped. Think of chasing that poor girl with a mad dog – ”

“I guess he isn’t mad,” ventured Eve, soberly.

Bobby laughed. “Even if he’s only vexed I wouldn’t want a bloodhound tearing after me over these hills.”

“You know what I mean,” persisted Nellie, still wrathfully. “It is a desperate shame! The dog will hurt her – ”

“No, no!” said Eve. “It is trained. And the man has it in leash – ”

“Hush! here they are!” warned Laura, and the girls hid themselves behind the fringe of bushes.

The dog gave tongue just as it came in sight, and the sound sent a shiver over the watchers. The baying of a bloodhound is a very terrifying sound indeed.

With the dogs were three men – one of them the same the girls of Central High had seen before. The other two were fully as rough-looking.

“I hope they don’t find her!” exclaimed Bobby.

“They’ll find you if you don’t keep still,” warned Jess.

But it appeared to the girls that the Gypsies were having considerable difficulty in following the trail of the girl who had fled along the top of the old stone wall. The dog searched from side to side of the road. He leaped the wall, dragging one of the men after him, and ran about the lower field. That she had traversed the stone fence, like a fox, never seemed to enter the men’s minds, nor the dog’s either.

For some time the party of hunters were in sight; but finally they went off in an easterly direction along the road, passing over the brook in which the strange girl had left her “water trail,” and the girls of Central High believed that the fugitive was safe – for the time being, at least.

“I wish we knew where she was going,” said Nellie. “I’d help her, for one.”

“Me, too,” agreed Bobby Hargrew.

“If she should get as far as our house, mother would take her in,” said Eve, in her placid way. “But the Romany folk are peculiar people, and they have laws of their own and do not like to be brought under those of other countries.”

“Why, they’re just tramps, aren’t they? Sort of sublimated tramps, perhaps,” said Jess.

“Not the real Gypsies,” said Laura. “They are very jealous, I have read, of their customs, their laws, and their language. They claim descent in direct line from early Egyptian times. The name of Stanley alone, which is common with them, dates back to William the Conqueror.”

“Well, come on!” sighed Jess. “We don’t care anything about the Gypsies, and we can’t help that girl – just now. If we tried to follow her up stream we would only give those men the idea of the direction in which we went. Let’s get on, or we’ll never get to Fielding.”

“All right,” agreed Laura.

“Forward, march!” sang out Bobby. “How’s the way, Eve? Right down this hill?”

“Keep parallel with the road. We’ll strike another path later,” said the Swiss girl, who had rambled all over these hills with her brother.

“Oh, these shoes!” groaned Jess.

“I told you so,” exclaimed Laura.

“Bah! what good does it do to repeat that?” snapped her chum. “I hate those old mud-scows of mine that Mrs. Case makes me wear when she goes walking with us.”

“Well, you certainly wore a fine pair to-day,” scoffed Bobby. “I guess it doesn’t do to do what Mrs. Case advises against.”

“Not if we want to make points for Central High,” said Laura, laughing.

“That’s so! Where would Jess be to-day if this was a regular scheduled walk, to count for our school in June?” cried Dora.

“Now, rub it in! rub it in!” exclaimed Jess. “Don’t you suppose I know I’ve been a chump without you all telling me so?”

“I do believe it will rain,” burst out Dorothy, suddenly. “Doesn’t that look like a rain-cloud to you, Laura?”

“Pooh!” said Eve. “Don’t be afraid of a little April shower. It won’t drown us, that’s sure.”

“That’s all right,” agreed Dora, the other twin. “But we don’t want to get soaked. If it should start to rain, is there any shelter near?”

“The Gypsy camp, maybe,” laughed Bobby, and then went on ahead, singing:

“Say, girls, we would be in a mess if it should start to rain hard.”

“And that cloud looks threatening,” admitted Nellie Agnew.

“I believe I felt a drop then,” gasped Dora.

“What’s the matter, Chicken Little?” laughed Laura. “Is the sky falling?”

“You can laugh! Maybe it will be a regular flood,” said Jess, ruefully.

“By the way, what caused the flood?” asked Bobby, soberly.

“Folks were so wicked – all but Noah,” replied Dora.

“No,” said Bobby.

“It’s one of Bobby’s ‘burns,’” declared Jess. “What did cause the flood, then?”

“It rained,” said the irrepressible one.

“Come on under this tree, girls!” cried Eve, striding ahead down the hill. “It will only be a passing shower.”

They ran for cover, and the broad branching limbs of the huge cedar Eve had selected faithfully covered them as the brief spring shower went drumming by.

Meanwhile Laura was saying, more thoughtfully:

“We’ve got to give our best attention to the inter-class and inter-school athletics when school opens again, girls, if we want Central High to stand first at the end of the year. You know we are being beaten right along by the East High and Keyport Just think! Central High only Number 3 in points that count when the June field day comes. We can’t stand for that, can we?”

“I should say not!” cried Bobby. “But we beat ’em last year on the water.”

“And we stand first in basketball,” added Dora Lockwood.

“But the fact remains we haven’t got the championship of the League cinched by any manner of means,” returned Laura. “Eve is going to win, I believe, in the shot-putting contests. Mrs. Case says that is on the doubtful list of girls’ athletics. But throwing weights isn’t going to hurt Eve, or Hester Grimes, that’s sure. And look at that girl at Vassar! She put the shot thirty-two feet and three-quarters of an inch when she was only sixteen. Eve can do almost as well.”

“I don’t know about that, Mother Wit,” said the big girl, laughing. “But I’ll do my best.”

“And your best will beat them all, I believe.”

“She’ll beat Magdeline Spink, of Lumberport, I know,” cried Bobby. “And she did all the big ‘throws’ last year – baseball, basketball, putting the shot, and all of ’em.”

“I hope you are right, Bobby,” returned the country girl, smiling. She was proud of her strength and physique. Her outdoor life since she was a little child, and what she had inherited from a long line of peasant ancestors was coming into play now for the benefit of Central High’s athletic score.

“Now, don’t sit down there on the damp ground, Jess. You’ll get a case of rheumatism – and a bad case, too.”

“Oh, I hope not!” cried Jess, jumping up. “I shouldn’t know what to do for it.”

“You’d have to take mud baths,” giggled Dorothy.

“That road below is in fine shape for that purpose, then,” said Jess, looking through the pouring rain at the puddles in the roadway.

“You’d have to wear flannels,” said Dora.

“Hah!” cried Bobby. “That’s it. Flannels are a sure cure. You know,

“Go on!” exclaimed Jess, laughing. “You sound like ‘Alice in Wonderland.’”

“Say, rather, ‘Bobby in Blunderland,’” added Laura. “But to get back to athletics – ”

“‘To return to our muttons,’” quoth Bobby, unrepressed.

“We have a chance to win the championship – our school has – if we can bring the relay teams up to the mark, and win the jumping events. It is on field and track that we have got to gain the points. No doubt of that.”

“Then our track teams need strengthening – much,” said Nellie Agnew, thoughtfully.

“I should say so!” exclaimed Bobby. “I could put on one of Lil Pendleton’s peg-top skirts and beat most of the junior runners right now!”

“If it’s as bad as that, we have all got to go into the track athletics, and pull up our score,” declared Laura.

“Hurrah!” cried Dorothy, suddenly. “It’s stopped raining.”

“That little shower didn’t even wet under the bushes,” said Eve, with satisfaction.

“Let’s get along, then, before another comes and washes us away,” said Bobby. “Straight ahead, Evangeline?”

“Yes. Right down to that dead oak you see on the lower hillside.”

“Good! A mark is set before me, and if my luck holds good I’ll reach it. But why prate of ‘luck’? Is there such a thing?”

“Give it up. What’s the answer?” asked Dora Lockwood, directly behind her.

“Luck is a foolish thing – or a belief in it is,” complained Bobby. “List to my tale of woe:

“Don’t sing us any more doggerel, but lead on!” commanded Laura.

Bobby was first at the dead tree. There she stopped, not for breath, but because, below her, in a sheltered hollow, where a spring drifted away across a grassy lawn, there was an encampment. She held up her hand and motioned for silence.

There were three large, covered wagons such is Gypsies usually drive. A dozen horses were tethered where the young grass was particularly lush. A fire over which a big kettle of some savory stew bubbled, burned in the midst of the encampment. There were two gaudily painted canvas tents staked on the green, too, although from the opened doors of the wagons it was evident that the Gypsies, at this time of year, mainly lived within their vehicles.

“Oh!” exclaimed Bobby, when the other girls were crowding about her, and looking as hard as she was at the camp. “This is what the girl we saw, ran away from.”