Part 36 (1/2)

At last they halted before a dingy, eight-flat apartment building. Pete carried the last, and heaviest, consignment of edibles in to its owner and returned, a moment later, to stand on the curbing with a kindly smile on his heavy-featured face.

”Now, boys,” he said, as he drew his cap down over his ears and forehead until the peak nearly met his black, bushy brows, ”hang on tight, and I'll give you a real ride back.”

A flick at the ribs of the fat, easy-going horse, and the two sleds were flying homeward. The depressions and hoof marks in the snow flew between the runners at a speed which dizzied their owners. Bits of ice, dislodged by the horse's hoofs, flew up and struck the boys' faces stinging blows. Past the university buildings, past the school which now stood empty and deserted because of the Christmas holidays, past impatient pedestrians on the street corners, and over to Southern Avenue where Pete turned in abruptly to the alley entrance of the grocery store. Silvey screamed a warning as his sled, running straight ahead, felt the tug of the tow rope, and skidded in a wide circle over the rough, uneven snow. John tried to save himself from a similar fate, but he had delayed too long. Straight for a huge snow bank, the two sleds headed, struck the curbing, and capsized with their owners underneath.

John rose shakily with an uncertain smile on his lips. His chum dug some snow from his ears and ran forward to unhitch the sleds. The grocer's clock showed a quarter after twelve, so they started for the home street. As they parted, John held up a detaining hand.

”That quarter,” he explained. ”Come on back to the drug store and get it changed. I want to put my share in the pig bank.”

Silvey drew off one moist mitten, and fumbled in his trouser's pockets with a perplexed frown. Neither was it in his coat, nor in his blouse.

Where had it been left?

”S'pose we lost it when we took that spill?”

There was another fruitless search before the boys went back to the grocery corner. There, they raked the snow bank over and over, levelled and reheaped it, and levelled it again before their ardor cooled. At last they were convinced that the coin was hopelessly lost. John turned away moodily.

”Come on,” he said. ”I'll be getting scolded if I don't get home for dinner.” It was hard to lose the proceeds of a morning's work in such a manner.

Mrs. Fletcher was waiting for him when he came into the hallway, stamping his feet l.u.s.tily to free them from the last lingering traces of snow.

”Where's the brush, Mother?” he asked, as he shook his coat. She brought him the implement and watched him keenly.

”Didn't I forbid you to go hitching, this morning?”

”Who told you?” he asked navely, taken aback at the sudden accusation.

Mothers had the most mysterious ways of discovering things.

She smiled in spite of herself. ”I asked the little Mosher boy where you were and he said he'd seen you riding off behind Anderson's grocery wagon. What do you think I ought to do to such a disobedient little boy?”

He didn't know. But he wished that he might lay hands on that kid brother of Skinny's. He'd teach him a thing or two about holding his tongue.

”You're getting too big to spank,” she commented as he stood silently before her. He nodded a cheerful a.s.sent to this.

”So I think you'd better stay in the house this afternoon.”

”A-w-w-w, Mother!”

She went into the dining-room where the table had been set for the noonday meal for two, and heaped his plate with potatoes and gravy, while he stood looking miserably out of the window.

The sun's rays were melting the surface of the snow and turning it a dirty gray. Up the street, Perry Alford was winging s...o...b..a.l.l.s at a black, leafless trunk opposite his house. That meant good packing, and snow fights, snow men, and a baker's dozen of other exciting amus.e.m.e.nts.

To be gated on such an afternoon!

”Come, son!” said Mrs. Fletcher, as he turned away with quivering lip, and drew his chair to the table. ”Be a man. Mother's right about it, isn't she?”

He admitted that her sentence was but justice, and attacked the dinner with an appet.i.te which no sorrow could diminish. Then he tramped slowly up to his room and threw himself down on his bed with a book to while away the weary stretch of afternoon confronting him.

Straightway the centuries rolled back, and the present day sorrows were forgotten. The times of the good king Alfred held sway as he followed the exploits of the hero against his Danish enemies with breathless interest. Again and again did the young earldorman's well-drilled band sally forth from its stronghold to attack larger bodies of the foe, and again and again did the boy on the bed wish that he was living in those soul-stirring times. Then came the building of the _Dragon_, for war must be waged on the sea as well as by land, and a call of, ”Oh, John-e-e-e-e! Oh, John-e-e-e-e!”