Читать книгу Hervey Willetts - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 11

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Before the meal was over Mr. Walton swept aside the whole subject and in pleasant contrast to those sorry matters observed cheerily, “I hope you’re going to stick with the Scouts, Herve. They represent about the best we’ve got in boys in this town. That Burroughs chap was in the store to-day wanting a jack-knife and he was asking when you were coming back. You didn’t get in touch with the troop yet, hey?”

“They spend too much time making plans,” Hervey said.

“Well, they have a lot of fun when they carry their plans out, don’t they?”

“Sure, playing games.”

“What’s the matter with games?”

“Jiminies, they never want to do what I do.”

“Then why don’t you do what they do? What a half a million boys want to do is better than what one boy wants to do, isn’t it? It seems to me they do some pretty big things. I notice they get their names in the papers.”

This remark about getting one’s name in the papers was not altogether pleasant to Hervey. He was somewhat in fear of that very thing. “Sure, that’s all they do,” he said. “Didn’t I beat them all running to East Farrelton? And I didn’t get anything out of it. Nix on that outfit.”

“I think that was a shame,” said Mrs. Walton.

“Sure, it was no fair,” said Hervey.

“Your scoutmaster told me you cut across Allen’s farm,” Mr. Walton observed, smiling. “And that’s private land you know, Herve.”

“He’s a sap,” said Hervey. “I got there the quickest way and beat them all, and then I get a comeback. You’re supposed to be resourceful and then when you’re resourceful and crawl under barbed-wire fences and all that and beat them by twenty-one minutes, they give you a call-down instead of a reward. Old man Allen never made any kick.”

“Probably he didn’t know about it,” said Mr. Walton.

“Well then, it didn’t hurt him,” said Hervey.

Mr. Walton whistled softly and looked ruefully into space.

“I haven’t much sympathy for men who use barbed-wire,” said Mrs. Walton in her gentle way. “Whenever I think of barbed-wire it reminds me of the war.”

“Sure, and they’re always shouting about cruelty to animals and all that bunk,” said Hervey. “A lot of cows get cut on barbed-wire fences. I know a cow that cut his throat that way. Nix on the Scouts.”

“Is there anything in the Scouts’ book favoring barbed-wire fences?” Mr. Walton asked. “Anyway, we’re not talking about barbed-wire, we’re talking about scouting.”

“I know that cow personally,” Hervey said.

“Well, I think it’s inhuman,” said his mother.

Poor Mr. Walton glanced from one to the other with an amused expression.

“Maybe I won’t resign,” said Hervey, “but I’m not going to bother with them a whole lot. I get plenty of fun, all right. Whatever they do I can beat them at it.”

“Well, then, I should think you’d stay with them and get the glory,” said Mr. Walton, rising. As he left the table he clapped Hervey on the shoulder by way of showing that the discussion had been altogether friendly. “You and Mum are a great pair,” he laughed. “The next time the Boy Scouts find a lost child, I’ll let you know about it, Herve.”

“Believe me, they can’t even find me half the time.”

“And that’s true enough, I guess,” said Mr. Walton.

Hervey spent the next day on one of his lone, aimless hikes. He made a picturesque figure as he went down the main street of Farrelton, wearing that outlandish cap which he always wore, the brim cut entirely away, the felt crown full of holes and advertisement buttons. His progress had a wanton air about it; it was evident that he had no destination. He poked the stick which he always carried into an over-ripe apple that he happened to see along the road, and dextrously discharged it against a house. It struck a window which made it necessary for him to accelerate his pace to a point of safety in a crossroad.

After a while he got a lift as far as Tanner’s Corners and proved entertaining to his motorist host. It was characteristic of him to proceed without the faintest thought of how he could get home; he could never see more than a few yards ahead of him. And he never considered the increasing distance behind him. In the present instance this distance stretched out to about fifteen miles. For when he learned that the motorist was going to Tanner’s Corners, of course he decided that he was going there too.

It proved a good destination, for there he witnessed a prolonged and exciting ball game on the village green. This did not end till dusk and while it was on our wandering hero gave not so much as one thought to home nor how he was to get there. The gathering darkness found him stranded; he had no money to pay his fare on the eight-seven northbound train nor to buy himself so much as a morsel of food.

Strangely, he had a feeling that his predicament was somehow part and parcel with his adventure of the previous night. He had not entirely forgotten that, nor even attained to a state of mental composure regarding it. He had been connected with something contemptible and unspeakable (those were his mother’s own words) and he did not like the words at all. He felt a little resentful toward her that she had used them. For what had he done that was so very bad? Well, he had done this; he had placed himself in a position where he could not tell what he knew about that young ruffian who had evidently been a stranger in Farrelton. He could not tell because of his own “malicious mischief.” He was not quite sure about malicious mischief, but his father’s words about it had not been reassuring. It was evidently a pretty serious matter and now, hungry and somewhat perplexed in this distant village, he had the feeling that somehow he was a fugitive.

But, of course, that was absurd; he had simply gone off for the day. And now he was in a predicament as he had been at Temple Camp dozens of times before. So far as his little escapade of the fire-alarm was concerned, he had only to keep silent. The only real worry that he had was about getting home. There was not the slightest reason why he should feel contemptible nor why he should feel like a confederate, much less a fugitive. But how about that ten miles that had seemed so short and pleasant in an auto? That was Hervey all over....

He strolled over to the railroad station and gazed wistfully at the train which was ready to start at eight-seven. The cars were lighted and looked cheery inside. A few passengers were already seated; they looked very comfortable as they sat reading or just waiting. Hervey strolled through the train to see if any Farrelton people were on it.

If so, he would have considered asking for a loan of his train fare. But he encountered no familiar faces. Then it occurred to him that this was just as well since he would not want his trip to Tanner’s Corners mentioned in Farrelton. He did not know just why he felt that way. It had something to do with that feeling about being a fugitive—about getting away from something or somebody.

Another thought occurred to him; he might hook a ride to Farrelton. He had never done such a thing on a railroad, but a couple of tramps who had made a squalid camp in the woods near Temple Camp had discussed in his presence the technique of riding under rolling stock. He could crawl in on the wheel trucks and be quite concealed. He remembered how one of those atrocious hoboes had mentioned the deafening clank and rattle which assaults the rider’s ears in such position. “De best dope is ter get sideways an’ hook yer foot onter de chain,” one of the hoboes had said. Hervey was not above trying that.

But his opportunity was spoiled by a trainman who presently took his stand on the platform calling, “Farrelton, North Farrelton, Woodsedge, Meadow Junction, change for Boston.” He had an eagle eye, and besides, the passengers were numerous on the platform now. Hervey realized that crawling in under a car was not so easy. Small as he was, he had not the technique of a hobo.

So he decided to walk the tracks to Farrelton. That would be the shortest route, shorter by two or three miles than the road. He would have to negotiate a trestle, but he did not mind that. The trestle was some distance away and he never worried about things that were at a distance. What troubled him most of all was that he was hungry. He did not admit that he was worried about anything else.

What was there to worry about?