Part 26 (2/2)

Paul hesitated. He was decidedly in the mood for falling in with Jeff's harmless suggestion; besides, he would certainly be late for supper, and, was consequently, slated for his uncle's reproof anyhow.

”All right. What are you going to do?”

”Oh, sit around and talk most likely. Probably ramble off to get something to eat, and then we might go up to see Tom Babc.o.c.k-he's a nice fellow. You'd like him.”

This seemed a mild and agreeable program, and was very much to Paul's taste. If his uncle should ask him where he'd been-well, hang it, did he have to give an account of everything he did, as if he were a child of ten? And all this fuss about Jeff Roberts was such utter nonsense anyhow.

Accordingly, he accepted Jeff's friendly invitation, and they went off together following the road on through the woods which led by a short cut to the neighboring town, of Goldsboro.

Goldsboro was a progressive young community where, unquestionably you could find more to do than at Frederickstown. The streets were brightly lighted at night, every Wednesday and Sat.u.r.day evening during the summer a band played for two hours in the Square, and the shops stayed open until ten o'clock, and there was even a theatre where such old cla.s.sics as ”Uncle Tom's Cabin,” ”The Old Homestead,” and ”Billy, the Kid,” were enacted by an ambitious stock company.

Jeff seemed to know everyone, and it was not long before he had collected a jolly party of five or six boys. He also knew where you could get a capital sea-food supper, and insisted that Paul should be his guest. In fact, Paul found the attentions bestowed upon him by this rather famous youth, decidedly flattering though he was at a loss to know just why Jeff should suddenly have begun to treat him as if he were his best friend. The truth was that Jeff was inclined to sudden friends.h.i.+ps, which were often as speedily broken as made.

Supper over, it was suggested that they drop around and see what Tom Babc.o.c.k was doing.

Tom was a young man older even than Jeff-two-and-twenty, perhaps, or twenty-three. He lived magnificently alone in a small room over a corner drugstore, where they found him smoking his pipe and hanging half way out of his window to watch the crowd in the Square, and to hear the strains of the bra.s.s-band which at that moment was playing ”Kathleen Mavourneen” with deep pathos.

Upon the arrival of his guests, Tom lighted his gas, and after a little conversation they all sat down to a game of cards.

Paul enjoyed himself immensely. He liked Jeff, he liked Tom, he liked Jim, and Jack and Harry. They were ”nice fellows,” all of them. Why they should be considered such a dangerous crew was more than he could understand.

And meantime the night wore on.

In the Lambert household mild wonder at Paul's absence gave way to anxiety.

”Well, I suppose the boy knows how to take care of himself,” remarked Mr. Lambert, drily.

”Perhaps, Peter, you had better put the latch-key under the doormat,”

suggested Aunt Gertrude, but Mr. Lambert would not agree to this.

”No, my dear. He knows quite well that everything is locked at ten o'clock. If he prefers to be roaming around the country at that time, he must be prepared to take the consequences. I hope you do not expect me to alter all the rules of the household for the boy.”

So at ten o'clock, Paul not yet having made his appearance, the front door was locked, and the family went to bed.

But Jane was not able to take his absence so calmly. Suppose he had got lost? Suppose he had hurt himself? He might even have been kidnapped.

These fears made it impossible for her to sleep, and so she sat down at her window, determined to wait up for him all night if necessary. With the house locked, how could he get in-where could he go?

The time that she waited seemed endless. The tones of the church clock, striking eleven, boomed solemnly through the stillness that lay over the town. All the houses were darkened; the street was quiet. Now and then, solitary footsteps rang out on the bricks, and Jane sat up eagerly only to hear them die away in a neighboring block.

Where _could_ he be? She was almost in tears when after an eternity of waiting she heard the sound of whistling far up the street.

”That _must_ be Paul. It _must_ be!” She leaned far out of the window, trying to get a glimpse of the wanderer, who was in fact coming nearer to the house. At last he came into the light of the street lamp, and she recognized him with a great sigh of relief. In another moment she had flown noiselessly down the stairs, and unbolted the door with as little squeaking and rattling as possible.

”h.e.l.lo,” said Paul as calmly as if he had just run up to the corner to mail a letter.

”Oh, _where_ have you been?”

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