The Rover Boys Megapack Read online

  The robbery kept the boys in Albany several days, and this being so, it was decided to abandon the trip on the river to New York.

  “I’ll send the Spray down by somebody,” said Dick, “and then we can take a train from here direct to Oak Run,” and so it was arranged.

  The trip to Oak Run proved to be uneventful. And at the railroad station they were met by Jack Ness, the Rovers’ hired man, who had driven over with the carryall to take them home.

  “Glad to see you all looking so well,” grinned the hired man. “Getting fat as butter, Master Tom.”

  “Thanks, Jack, I’m feeling fine. Any news?”

  “No, sir, none exceptin’ that your uncle has had a row with Joel Fox, who has the farm next to ours.”

  “What was the row about?” questioned Dick.

  “All about some fruit, sir. We had a tree hangin’ over Fox’s fence—finest pear tree on the place, that was. Fox strips the tree at night, sir—saw him with my own eyes.”

  “Oh, what cheek!” burst out Sam. “What did uncle do?”

  “Tried to talk to him, and Fox told him to mind his own business, that he could have what fruit hung over his fence. So he could, but not half of it hung that way, and he took every blessed pear.”

  “Fox always was a mean man,” murmured Tom. “I’d like to square accounts with him before I go back to Putnam Hall.”

  “I reckoned as how you might be up to something like that,” said Ness, with another grin. “But you want to be careful. Only yesterday Fox shot off his gun at some boys who were after his apples.”

  “Did he hit the boys?”

  “I don’t think he did.”

  “Who were they?”

  “I don’t know. And I reckon he don’t either.”

  “Humph!” Tom mused for a moment.

  “I’d like to scare the mean fellow by making him think one of the boys was killed.”

  “That’s an idea!” cried Sam, and winked at his brother. “Let’s do it!”

  They were soon bowling over Swift River and along the road leading to Valley Brook farm. At the farmhouse their Uncle Randolph and Aunt Martha stood in the dooryard to greet them.

  “Back again, safe and sound!” cried Randolph Rover. “I suppose you feel like regular sailors.”

  “Well, we do feel a little that way,” laughed Sam, and returned the warm kiss his aunt bestowed upon him. “It’s nice to be home once more.”

  “Would you rather stay here than go back to Putnam Hall?” asked his aunt quickly.

  “Oh, no, I can’t say that, Aunt Martha. But it’s awfully nice here, nevertheless.”

  A hot supper was awaiting them, and while they ate they told of all that had happened since they had been away. Randolph Rover shuddered over the way Dick had been treated.

  “Be careful, my boy,” he said. “Remember, even your father could not bring this Arnold Baxter to justice. He is evidently a thorough-paced scoundrel, and his companion is probably just as bad.”

  “And how goes the scientific farming, Uncle Randolph?” asked Tom, who knew how to touch his uncle in the right spot.

  “Splendidly, my boy, splendidly! I am now working on a new rotation of crops. It will, I am certain, prove a revelation to the entire agricultural world.”

  “Did you make much money this season?” asked Sam dryly.

  “Well—er—no; in fact, we ran a little behind. But we will do finely next year—I am certain of it. I will have some strawberries and celery which shall astonish our State agricultural committee,” answered Randolph Rover. He was always enthusiastic, in spite of almost constant failure. Thus far his hobby had netted him a loss of several thousand dollars.

  It was Friday, and Saturday was to be given over to packing up for school. Yet on Saturday morning Tom managed to call Sam aside.

  “We’ll go over to Fox’s,” said he. “Are you ready?”

  “I am, Tom,” answered the younger brother. “And be sure and pile it on.”

  “Trust me for that,” and Tom winked in a fashion that set Sam to roaring.

  They found Joel Fox at work along the roadside, mending a part of a stone wall which had tumbled down. Fox was a Yankee, and miserly and sour to the very core.

  “Well, what do you want?” he demanded, as the boys came to a halt in front of him.

  “Why, Mr. Fox, I thought you had skipped out!” cried Tom in pretended surprise.

  “Skipped out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why should I skip out, boy?”

  “On account of Harry Smith.”

  “Harry Smith? Who is he?”

  “Harry Smith of Oak Run—the boy who was shot the other day. Didn’t you hear he was dead?”

  At these words Joel Fox dropped the tools he was using and turned pale.

  “Is—er—is the boy—er—” He could not finish.

  “It was a wicked thing to do,” put in Sam. “Any man that would shoot a boy ought to be lynched.”

  “Perhaps that crowd of men were coming up here,” went on Tom. “Didn’t they have a rope with them?”

  “To be sure they had a rope, Tom. And one of ‘em said something about hanging.”

  “What crowd are you talking about?” stammered Joel Fox, growing paler and paler.

  “The crowd at the depot. Did you shoot him, Mr. Fox? I can’t hardly believe it true, although I know you were mean enough to take my uncle’s pears.”

  “I—er—the pears were on my property. I er—I didn’t shoot at any boy. I—er—I shot at some crows in my cornfield,” stammered Joel Fox. “Did you say a crowd of men were coming over here with a rope?”

  “You’ll see fast enough, you bad man!” cried Tom, and ran off, followed by Sam. In vain Fox tried to call them back.

  The boys went as far as a turn in the road, then hid behind some bushes. Soon they saw Fox pick up his tools and make for his barn. Then he came out and hurried for his house.

  “I guess he’s pretty well rattled,” laughed Tom. “Won’t he be mad when he learns how he has been fooled!”

  They waited for a while, but as Fox did not reappear they hurried back home by another road, that the man might not see them.

  Tom was right when he said that the miserly old farmer was “rattled,” as it is commonly called.

  All day long the coward remained in the house, as nervous as a cat and afraid that a crowd of men would appear at any minute to lynch him.

  His wife did not know what to make of such actions and finally demanded an explanation, and when it was not forthcoming threatened him with the broom, which she had used as a weapon of offense several times previously.

  “They say he’s dead!” finally burst out Joel. “They are goin’ ter lynch me for it. Hide me, Mandy, hide me!”

  “Who is dead, Joel Fox?”

  “The boy I shot at fer stealin’ them apples. Oh, they’ll lynch me; I feel it in my bones!” groaned the old man.

  “Who was it?”

  “Harry Smith of Oak Run.”

  “And he is dead?”

  “So they say. But I didn’t calkerlate I hit him at all,” whined Joel.

  “No more you did, for I saw him run away, and he went clear out o’ sight up the road. Who told you this?” demanded Mrs. Fox.

  “Those Rover boys, Tom an’ Sam.”

  “Those young imps! Joel, they are fooling you.”

  “Do you really think so, Mandy?” asked the man hopefully.

  “I do. If I was you I’d go over to Oak Run and find out.”

  “No, no—if it’s true they’ll lynch me, I know they will!”

  “Then I’ll go over. I know Mrs. Smith. If he’s dead there will be crape on the door an’ I won’t go in,” concluded Mrs. Fox.

  And getting out a horse and buckboard, she drove over
to Oak Run and to the Smiths’ place. She found no crape on the door. Harry Smith sat on the porch, his arm in a sling. Plucking up courage she drew rein, dismounted, and walked up to the boy, who was one of the Rover brothers friends.

  “How is your arm, Harry?” she began softly.

  “It’s pretty fair,” answered the boy politely. “Won’t you come in, Mrs. Fox?”

  “Well, I guess not. Harry, I’m sorry for this.”

  “So am I sorry, Mrs. Fox.”

  “I didn’t think you would do it. Why didn’t you come up to the house an’ ask for them apples?”

  The boy looked puzzled, for the simple reason that he was puzzled. “I don’t understand you. What apples?”

  “The ones you tried to steal.”

  “I didn’t try to steal any apples, Mrs. Fox. What makes you think that?”

  “Didn’t you try to git in our orchard when Joel fired on you?” cried Mrs. Fox.

  “Why, I haven’t been anywhere near your orchard!”

  “So?” Mrs. Fox looked bewildered. “Then—then how did you get hurt?” she faltered.

  “Why, Mr. Wicks and I were cleaning out pa’s old shotgun when it went off accidentally, and I got a couple of the shot in my forearm,” answered Harry Smith promptly.

  The answer took away Mrs. Fox’s breath.

  “Drat them boys—I knowed it!” she muttered, and drove away without another word. Harry Smith was much puzzled, but letters which soon after passed between him and Tom cleared up the mystery.

  But the boys never heard of how Joel Fox fared when his wife got home. The lady arrived “as mad as a hornet,” to use a popular saying. “You’re the worst old fool ever was, Joel Fox!” were her first words, and a bitter quarrel followed that ended only when the man was driven out of the house with the ever-trustworthy broom. Joel Fox wanted to go over to the Rover farm, to have it out with Tom and Sam, but somehow he could not pluck up the courage to make the move.

  CHAPTER XI

  FUN AT PUTNAM HALL1

  “Back to Putnam Hall at last!”

  “Yes, boys, back at last! Hurrah for the dear old school, and all the boys in it!”

  Peleg Snuggers, the general utility man of the Hall, had just brought the boys up from Cedarville, to which place they had journeyed from Ithaca on the regular afternoon boat running up Cayuga Lake. With the Rovers had come Fred Garrison, Larry Colby, and several others of their old school chums.

  “Glad to welcome you back, boys!” exclaimed Captain Victor Putnam, a pleasant smile on his face. He shook hands all around. “Did you have a nice trip?”

  “Splendid, sir,” said Tom. “Oh, how do you do, Mr. Strong?” and he ran to meet the head teacher. He could not help but think of how different things were now to when he had first arrived at Putnam Hall the year previous, and Josiah Crabtree had locked him up in the guardroom for exploding a big firecracker in honor of the occasion.

  “Well, Thomas, I hope you have left all your pranks behind,” observed George Strong. “How about it?” And his eyes twinkled.

  “Oh, I’m going in for study this session,” answered Tom demurely. And then he winked at Larry on the sly. But his words did not deceive George Strong, who understood only too well Tom’s propensity for mischief.

  It was the first day of the term, but as the cadets kept on arriving with every train and boat, no lessons were given out, and the boys were allowed to do pretty much as they pleased. They visited every nook and corner, including the classrooms, the dormitories, the stables, and the gymnasium and boathouse, and nearly bothered the life out of Peleg Snuggers, Mrs. Green, the housekeeper, and Alexander Pop, the colored waiter of the mess hall.

  “Hullo, Aleck!” cried Tom rushing up and grabbing the colored man by the hand. “How are you—pretty well? I’m first-rate, never was better in my life!” And he gave the hand a hard squeeze.

  “Stop, wot yo’ up to, Massah Rober!” roared the waiter, leaping off his feet. “Wot yo’ got in yo’ hand?”

  “Why, nothing, Aleck, my boy. Yes, I’m feeling fine. I’ve gained fifteen pounds, and—”

  “Yo’ lemme go, sah-yo’ is stickin’ pins in my hand!” howled Pop. “Oh, deah, now de term’s dun begun we’ll all be dead wid dat boy’s tricks!” he moaned, as Tom ran off, throwing away several tiny tacks as he did so.

  “So you’ve come back, have you?” observed Mrs. Green, as Tom stopped at the kitchen door. “Well, just you mind your P’s and Q’s, or there will be trouble, I can tell you that, Tom Rover.”

  “Why, we never had any trouble, Mrs. Green,” he said soberly. “Did we?”

  “Oh, of course not! But who stole that can of peaches right after the Christmas holidays, and who locked one of the cows in the back hall and nearly scared the washwoman to death? Oh, dear, you never did anything, never!” And Mrs. Green shook her head warningly.

  “Do you mean to say I would take a can of peaches, Mrs. Green?” asked Tom, and then his face fell. “Oh, dear, you always did put me down as the worst boy in the school, when—I—I—do—my—very best,” and, almost sobbing, Tom put his face up against his coat sleeve. Mrs. Green was very tender-hearted in spite of her somewhat free tongue, and she was all sympathy immediately.

  “There, there, Tom, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” she said soothingly. “I—I was only fooling. Will you have a piece of hot mince pie? It’s just out of the oven.”

  “I—I don’t know!” sobbed Tom. “You treat me so awful meanly!”

  “I didn’t mean it—really I didn’t. Come, sit down and have the pie, that’s a good boy. I’m glad you are back, and you are better than lots of the other cadets, so there!” And Tom slid into a seat and devoured the generous slice of pie dealt out to him with keen relish.

  “It’s really like home,” he murmured presently.

  “Mrs. Green, when you die, they ought to erect an awfully big monument over your grave.”

  “But I’m not dying just yet, Tom—pray don’t speak of it.”

  “By the way, my aunt was dyeing when I left home,” went on the boy, as he moved toward the door.

  “Indeed. Didn’t you hate to leave her?”

  “Not at all. She didn’t seem to mind it.”

  “What was her trouble, Tom—consumption?”

  “No, she had an old brown dress that had faded out green and she was dyeing it black,” was the soft answer, and then Tom ran for his life. Mrs. Green did not speak to him for almost a week after that. And yet with it all she couldn’t help but like the boy.

  Of course Peleg Snuggers came in for his full share of attention, and the utility man had all sorts of jokes played on him until he was almost in despair.

  “Don’t, young gents, don’t!” he would plead. “Oh, my! An’ to think the term’s just begun!” And he mopped his brow with his red bandanna handkerchief.

  “Peleg, you are getting handsomer every day,” remarked Sam. “It’s a wonder you don’t go into the beauty show in New York.”

  “Wot kind of a joke is that, Master Rover?”

  “Oh, it’s no joke. You are handsome. Won’t you let me take your photograph?”

  “Have you got a camera?”

  “To be sure. Here it is.” Sam drew a tiny box from his pocket.

  “Now stand still and I’ll take a snap shot.”

  Snuggers had wanted to have his picture taken for some time, to send to a certain girl in Cedarville in whom he was much interested. To have a photograph taken for nothing tickled him greatly.

  “Wait till I brush up a bit,” he said, and got out a pocket comb, with which he adjusted his hair and his stubby mustache.

  “Now stand straight and look happy!” cried Sam as a crowd collected around. “Raise you right hand to your breast, just as all statesmen do. Up with your chin—don’t drop your left eye—close your mouth. Now
then, don’t budge on your life!”

  Peleg Snuggers stood like a statue, his chin well up in the air and his eyes set into a steady stare. Sam elevated the tiny box and kept the man standing for fully half a minute, while the boys behind Snuggers could scarcely keep from roaring.

  “There you are,” said Sam at last. “Now wait a minute and the picture will be finished.”

  “Don’t you have to print ‘em in the sun?” asked Snuggers.

  “No, this is a new patented process.” Sam drew a square of tin from the box. “There you are, Peleg, and all for nothing.”

  “I don’t see any picture,” growled Snuggers, looking at the square blankly.

  “You must breathe on it, Peleg; then the picture will come out beautifully. It’s a little fresh yet.”

  Peleg Snuggers breathed on the square of tin as directed, and then there slowly came to view the picture of a donkey’s head! The boys gathered around set up a shout.

  “Hurrah, Peleg, what a fine picture!”

  “You’ve changed a little in your looks, Peleg, since you had the last taken, eh?”

  “Your girl will fall in love with that picture, Peleg, I’m certain of it.”

  “Sam Rover, I’ll git square, see if I don’t!” roared the utility man, as he dashed the square of tin to the ground. “I knowed you was goin’ to play a joke on me.” And he started to walk off.

  “Why, what’s the matter?” demanded Sam innocently. “Isn’t it a good picture?’

  “I’ll picture you!”

  “I thought I was doing my best.”

  “Show me off for a donkey! If it wasn’t against the rules I’d—I’d wollop you!”

  “A donkey! Oh, Peleg, I did nothing of the kind! Here is your picture, on my word of honor.”

  “It’s a donkey’s head, I say.”

  “And I say it’s your picture. I’ll leave it to anybody in the crowd.”

  “I guess I know a donkey’s head when I see it, Master Rover. I didn’t expect no such joke from you, though your brother Tom might have played it.”

  “Boys, isn’t this a good picture?” demanded Sam, showing up the other side of the tin square.

  “Why, splendid!” came from the crowd.

  “Peleg, there is some mistake here.”