Chapter 11

FUDGE SCENTS A SECRET

Mr. Brent was not in. The clerk, recognizing Gordon as the youth who had called previously and been admitted, explained, in answer to his look of perplexity, that Mr. Brent had been suddenly called to New York and would be gone at least overnight.

“He didn’t leave any message for me, did he?” asked the boy.

“No. He went away hurriedly. If it’s very important, you can reach him in New York by telephone this afternoon.”

Gordon departed, shaking his head. On the sidewalk he was presently joined by Fudge, who came out of Castle’s drug store, a few doors away, with a suspicious moistness about the mouth.

“You’re soon back,” he said. “Did he throw you out?”

“He’s away. Gone to New York. Now what’ll I do?”

“Do nothing. That’s easy. I should think you’d be tickled to death.”

“But that automobile can’t stay out there on the road forever, Fudge. Someone will steal it or pull it to pieces or something. I guess I’ll go over to the Brents’ and see what Louise thinks we’d better do.”

“Huh! What’s a girl know about it?” demanded Fudge. “Say, I had a soda. Want one?”

Gordon shook his head at first but finally allowed himself to be conducted to the front of the long white marble counter. A nice cold raspberry phosphate is an awfully good thing to soothe the mind, and Gordon felt more cheerful when he emerged. Fudge, who had followed his original root beer with a pineapple phosphate, confided to Gordon on the way home that he believed he’d apply at Castle’s for a job at the soda fountain.

“You see,” he explained, “I never had enough soda yet, and if I worked there I’ll bet I’d have a dandy time!”

Gordon postponed his call at Brentwood until after dinner and in the meanwhile presented his problem to his father. Mr. Merrick’s advice was caution. He thought Gordon had best let the automobile alone unless he obtained authority from Mr. Brent or perhaps Mrs. Brent to rescue it. When he reached Brentwood he asked for Louise and that young lady soon joined him. Morris, she reported, was very comfortable, considering the fact that his left leg was in a cast, but the doctor didn’t want him to see anyone quite yet. Gordon was secretly relieved, for he was afraid he wouldn’t know just how to behave or just what to say to an invalid. Louise led the way to the porch and then disappeared in search of her mother. When that lady appeared Gordon had to listen to many nice things and many expressions of gratitude, all of which embarrassed him horribly.

Mrs. Brent was a short, comfortably stout lady with soft, quiet manners and a voice to match. Gordon liked her immensely, but just now he found himself wishing that he might have escaped her. It was Louise who, noting his unhappiness, finally came to his rescue.

“There, mama, you’re embarrassing Gordon awfully. I’m sure he doesn’t want to be thanked any more. Besides, he didn’t come to make a social call; he’s here on important business. He told me so.”

Gordon explained the difficulty about the abandoned automobile and asked them what he had better do. “You see,” he pointed out, “Mr. Stacey won’t go after it unless someone tells him to. I was thinking that perhaps the best thing would be to have one of the liverymen bring it back and keep it until Mr. Brent decides about it.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say,” replied Mrs. Brent. “If Mr. Brent says he won’t pay the man the rest of the money, why, he won’t, and that’s all there is to that. But, of course, the automobile can’t stay on the road. I suppose, Louise, we oughtn’t to worry Morris with it just yet.”

“Goodness, no! What does it matter what happens to the horrid old thing, anyway, mama? Let someone bring it into town and keep it. I’m sure Morris will never want to see it again, even if papa is willing; and of course he won’t be.”

“Then if Gordon will see to it---”

“Yes’m, I will. I’ll get Stewart to go after it. I guess he can pull it if he puts a timber under the broken wheel. There wouldn’t be room in your stable for it, would there?”

“Yes, there would,” replied Louise. “There’s lots of room in the carriage-house. Tell Stewart to bring it here, Gordon.”

“All right. That would be the best thing, I guess. Stewart would probably charge storage for it if he kept it at his stable. I suppose he will want quite a little money to haul it in, too.”

“Tell him to charge it to papa, Gordon. Do you mind attending to it? It’s awfully nice of you to take so much trouble for us. You’ll begin to think we’re a pretty bothersome family, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t mind at all. I’m glad to, Louise. I wish you’d remember me to Morris, please. I—I’ll call and see him some time after he’s able to have visitors. Is there anything I can do for him, Mrs. Brent?”

“I think not, Gordon. You’ve done so much already---”

“I couldn’t have done any less,” murmured Gordon hurriedly, fearing that Mrs. Brent was about to express her gratitude again. “Folks—folks made more of it than it—really amounted to. I guess I’ll go and see Stewart. I hope Morris will get along finely and—and everything.”

“I suppose,” he said, after he had bade good-bye to Mrs. Brent, “you won’t get over to the Point for some time, Louise.”

“No, not for a month, probably. I don’t mind a great deal. The main thing is to get Morris well again. It’s going to be terribly dull and stupid for him, Gordon.”

“Fierce!” They had paused at the gate. “If there’s anything I can do, or anything any of us can do, Louise---”

“Not now, but you can do a lot later,” she replied smilingly. “You can come and see him and cheer him up in a day or two. Will you?”

“Of course! Glad to! And I’ll bring the other fellows, too.”

“I guess there aren’t very many others, are there?”

“Many others?” he asked.

“Many others who would care to come, I mean. Morris doesn’t seem to have very many boy friends, does he?”

“Why, I don’t know. I guess every fellow likes Morris---”

“Fibber! Never mind, though. You come when you can, Gordon. Good-bye. I’ll tell Ryan to get a place ready for the automobile.”

His way to Stewart’s stable led him past Lanny’s house and he slowed down as he reached the gate and whistled. Lanny appeared from around the house with a bicycle chain dangling in his hand.

“Come on over to Stewart’s stable with me,” commanded Gordon.

“Can’t.” Lanny exhibited the chain. “Chain’s busted. I’ve been trying to fix it, but I think I’ll have to take it to the shop.”

“Bring it along, then, and we’ll walk. I’ll stick my wheel back of the fence here. I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.”

“All right. Wait till I get some of this dirt off my hands. It won’t take a minute.” As a matter of fact, it took five, and Gordon was established comfortably on the horse-block in front of the gate when Lanny returned. Together they went on along B Street and turned into River Street, talking very earnestly all the way and more than once pausing stock-still on the sidewalk. Whatever the subject of conversation was, it was easy to see that Lanny was both interested and enthusiastic, and at last, just before their halting progress landed them outside the livery stable, Lanny clapped a hand on Gordon’s shoulder.

“It’s a peach of a scheme!” he declared. “Does he know anything about it?”

Gordon shook his head. “I just thought of it awhile ago, after I’d seen him. I don’t think we’d better say anything to him about it, Lanny, because he’d probably refuse.”

“That’s so. The best way is to go ahead and do it—and tell him afterward.” Lanny chuckled. “The other fellows will have to know, though.”

“Yes, but we’ll make them promise not to talk. Gee, if I don’t hurry that automobile will stay out another night, I guess!”

But fortunately Mr. Stewart had a truck and horses that could be at once dispatched on the errand and the two boys waited while the expedition made ready. Mr. Stewart himself, a good-natured little red-faced Scotchman, proposed to accompany the truck and personally superintend the project. Afterward Gordon went with Lanny to the bicycle repair shop and waited while a new link was put in the broken chain. Later in the afternoon they mounted their wheels and, with Fudge, who had joined them meanwhile, rode over to the back entrance of Brentwood and awaited the arrival of the automobile. It came about half-past five and was rolled into a corner of the big carriage-house. Then Gordon and Lanny and Fudge took stock of injuries. One wheel was smashed and the front axle was bent. It didn’t require an expert to determine that much. For the rest, barring a broken lantern and bent fenders and a dent in the radiator, the car was as good as new so far as they could see.

“I wish I knew enough about cars to try it and see if the engine is all right,” said Gordon. “But I don’t see how anything can be wrong there, do you?”

“No, I guess the wheels will go around same as before,” said Lanny. “How much do you suppose it will cost to fix it up?”

Gordon shook his head. “Maybe thirty dollars,” he said finally. “What do you think?”

“Bet it will be nearer a hundred,” said Fudge. “Repairs on automobiles cost like anything.”

“Fudge knows,” remarked Lanny. “His repair bills are something frightful, aren’t they, Fudge? Why, he was saying just the other day, Gordie, that he had half a mind to sell two or three of his cars!”

“Th-that’s all right,” sputtered Fudge. “I’ve heard Mr. T-T-Turner say th-th-that---”

“Of course you have,” agreed Gordon soothingly. “By the way, Lanny, heard the latest? Fudge is going to get a job with Castle at the soda fountain.”

“That s-s-s-s-so?” laughed Lanny.

“Yes. Can’t you see Fudge, with a white apron on, leaning across the counter asking, ‘What kind of s-s-s-s-soda will you have, Miss?’”

“‘S-s-s-sarsparilla, please,’” responded Lanny.

“‘S-S-So s-s-s-sorry, but we’re all out of s-s-s-sarsparilla. We’ve got s-s-s-some nice ch-ch-ch-ch-chocolate, though.’”

“Oh, dry up,” said Fudge, with a grin. “If you fellows come around there I’ll p-p-poison you!”

“Well, come on, fellows, it’s supper time,” said Lanny. “Don’t you take that car out and go ‘joy riding,’ Mr. Ryan.”

“Huh!” growled the Brent coachman, who had viewed the proceedings with deep pessimism. “I wouldn’t touch the thing for a hundred dollars. How do I know it won’t be blowin’ me up some fine night?”

“It won’t if you treat it kindly,” Fudge assured him. “Give it plenty of oats and hay, Mr. Ryan, and a drink of gasoline now and then and it’ll be as quiet as a lamb.”

They left the coachman muttering over the harness he was cleaning and got on their wheels. “Who will you get to look at it?” asked Lanny as they rolled homeward.

“I don’t know. Not Stacey, anyway. Of course I’ll have to talk with Morris first, and Mr. Brent too, I guess. And maybe it won’t come to anything.”

“What won’t?” asked Fudge suspiciously.

“Never you mind, son. It’s something that doesn’t concern little boys.”

“Go on and tell me,” begged Fudge. “Is it a secret?”

“It wouldn’t be if you knew it,” answered Gordon unkindly.

“I’d like to know when I ever blabbed anything,” exclaimed Fudge indignantly. “Didn’t I know all about Charlie Matthews a whole week before anyone else did? And didn’t I---”

“Well, we may tell you some time,” teased Gordon. “What do you think, Lanny?”

“I guess so. It would cost money to advertise it in the paper, and so---”

“Oh, you make me tired,” growled Fudge. “I don’t want to know it anyway. ’Tain’t anything, I’ll bet!”

“Not a thing, Fudge,” agreed Lanny.

“Then what you so—so mysterious about?” Fudge demanded.

“To arouse your curiosity, Fudge. Good-night, Gordie. Maybe you’d better tell him before he busts up. Good-night, Fudge. Say, we play Lesterville Saturday, don’t we?”

“You bet! And don’t forget practice again to-morrow. We want to beat those fellows.”

“Well, we’ve got a perfect record so far,” laughed Lanny. “Our percentage is one thousand. Played one, won one, lost none. Are the Pointers going to play us again?”

“Sure! I told Dick to see Caspar Billings to-day if he had a chance and see if they’d come over here a week from Saturday.”

“That’s good. Bet you, though, they lick us next time. So long.”

Lanny sped homeward and Gordon and Fudge parted midway between their gates. “You come over after supper, Fudge, and I’ll tell you what that is we were talking about.”

“Thanks, but I guess I don’t care to know,” replied Fudge a trifle haughtily. Gordon laughed.

“Don’t be a chump. We were only fooling. All the fellows are going to know about it, but I’ll tell you first if you’ll come over.”

“You told Lanny first,” Fudge objected doubtfully. “But—I’ll come.”