Four Afoot: Being the Adventures of the Big Four on the Highway

“Hello,” said Dan; “you remember me, do you?”

For answer the dog placed his front paws on Dan’s knee and looked inquiringly up into his face.

“I believe he knows you rescued him,” said Bob.

“Of course he does,” said Dan. “You’ve got sense, haven’t you, Towser?”

The terrier sneezed and wagged his tail frantically, pawing at Dan’s knee.

“Hello; catching cold, are you?” Dan picked him up and snuggled him in his arms. “That won’t do. Mustn’t catch cold, you know.” The dog licked Dan’s face and wriggled ecstatically.

“He seems to like you,” said Tom. “Dogs are funny creatures.”

“He’s a nice little dog,” said Dan as he dropped him gently to the ground again. “I wouldn’t mind having him.”

“Wonder if he really is a stray?” said Nelson.

“Well, come on, fellows; it’s getting late,” said Bob, “and we’re only a little more than halfway to Meadowville.”

“Now you run along home, Mr. Dog,” said Dan, shaking his finger at the terrier. The terrier seemed to understand, for his manner became at once sorrowful and dejected. He watched them go off without a wag of his tail. Presently Dan stole a backward glance. The terrier was stealing along behind them some twenty yards back. Dan said nothing. A few minutes later Bob and Nelson became aware of something trotting along in the rear. They turned. The terrier stopped with one foot in the air. His tail wagged conciliatingly.

“Go home!” said Bob sternly.

The dog dropped his head and began to sniff at the ground as though the last thing in his mind was following them. Nelson and Tom laughed.

“Oh, let him come,” muttered Dan.

“It wouldn’t be fair,” said Bob firmly. “He must belong to some one and they’d probably feel bad if they lost him.”

“All right,” said Dan. “You get along home, doggie.”

But doggie was busy now following an imaginary scent along the side of the road.

“Throw a stone at him,” said Tom.

“You do it if you want to,” said Bob.

But Tom didn’t seem to want to. Finally Bob picked up an imaginary missile and made a motion toward the dog. He didn’t run, but paused and stared at them with an expression of such surprise and sorrow that Bob’s heart failed him.

“Oh, come on,” he muttered. “He won’t follow.”

Five minutes later when they reached a turn in the road they looked back. There stood the terrier where they had left him, still looking after their retreating forms. The next moment he was lost to sight.

“He was a nice little dog,” said Dan regretfully.

They reached Meadowville without further adventure just before noon, having made, in spite of the delay, a very creditable morning record. There was no choice in the matter of hotels, since the village boasted of but one – a small, white-painted, old-fashioned hostelry standing with its front steps flush with the village street. A long porch ran the length of the house, and a dozen armchairs invited to rest. But the proprietor informed them that dinner was ready and so they made at once for the washroom, removed the dust of the highway, and subsequently were conducted into the dining room, already well filled. They had just finished their soup – all save Tom, who had requested a second helping – when the proprietor appeared before them.

“Say, did any of you boys bring a dog?” he asked.

“No,” and they shook their heads.

“All right. There’s one out here and I can’t get rid of him. I didn’t know but he might belong to some of you. I never saw the cur before.”

“Here! Hold on,” cried Dan, jumping up. “Let’s see him.”

They all trooped out into the office. There, nosing excitedly about, was the wire-haired terrier. When he caught sight of them he stopped, crouched to the floor, and wagged his bit of tail violently. They broke into a laugh; all save Dan.

“It’s all right,” said Dan decisively. “That’s my dog.”

He strode over to him. The terrier rolled over on to his back, stuck all four feet toward the ceiling, and awaited annihilation. But it didn’t come. Instead, Dan took him into his arms and faced the others.

“I guess he can stay with us now, can’t he?” he asked.

“You bet,” said Bob.

CHAPTER VII

WHEREIN BARRY DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF

They rested until a little after two o’clock, and then, the intensest heat of a very hot day having passed, they took up their journey again, the party of four now having become a party of five.

The fifth member had remained on the porch while the boys had eaten their dinners. There had been some compulsion about it, as a cord had been tied to his collar and then to the railing. But after the first minute or two, during which he had evidently labored under the impression that his newly found friends were about to escape him again, he had accepted the situation philosophically and had even dozed once or twice there in the sun. He looked very much better after he had been released and, surrounded by the boys, had eaten a hearty dinner. The sun had dried his coat, and the food had apparently restored his self-respect. A man in whipcord, probably a groom or stableman, paused on his way out of the hotel.

“That’s a nice-looking dog you’ve got there,” he observed after a silent contemplation of the terrier. “Where’d you get him, if it’s no offense, sir?”

Dan hesitated. Then:

“Over near Barrington,” he answered uneasily.

“Thoroughbred, I guess,” said the other questioningly.

Dan nodded carelessly. The man stooped and snapped his fingers.

“Here, boy, come see me. What’s his name, sir?”

“Er – Barry,” stammered Dan.

“Here, Barry!” called the man. But the terrier acted just as though he’d never heard his name before.

“He looks a lot like Forest Lad, the dog that won so many prizes in New York last winter,” continued the man. “But he’s a bit thinner across the breast than him, I guess. A fine-looking dog, though. Want to sell him?”

“No, I don’t think so,” answered Dan.

“Well, I don’t want him myself, but I guess I could tell you where you could find a purchaser, and not very far off.”

“He’s not for sale,” said Dan.

“Well, I don’t know as I’d want to sell him if he was mine,” said the other as he moved off.

“Look here, what did you call him Barry for?” asked Nelson.

“Gee! I had to call him something,” said Dan, “and that’s the first thing I thought of. I didn’t want that fellow to think I’d stolen the dog.”

“Well, but what’s Barry mean? What made you think of that?”

“I don’t know,” answered Dan, puzzled.

“I do,” said Tom. “You’d just told the man you got him at Barrington; see? Barry – Barrington.”

“I guess that was it. Mr. Barry, of Barrington. Well, that isn’t such a bad name.”

“It’s easy to say,” responded Bob. “Here, Barry.”

But the terrier only wagged his tail in a friendly way.

“He’ll learn his name quick enough,” said Dan. “I wonder, though, what his real name is.”

“Let’s see if we can find out,” suggested Bob. “We’ll call him all the names we can think of and see if he answers to any of them.”

So they started in, and the terrier, evidently at a loss to know what it all meant, laid himself down in the sunlight and observed them with puzzled eyes. They tried all the usual names they could think of, and then they started on unusual ones. But when Tom got to Launcelot, Dan interfered.

“Look here, that will do for you,” he said. “I’m not going to have my dog called any such names as that. You’ll be calling him Reginald next, I suppose!”

“What name was that that fellow got off?” questioned Nelson. “Forest Lad, was it?”

“Yes; maybe that’s his name. Let’s try it. Here, Forest Lad!”

But the terrier only yawned.

“Not the same,” said Nelson. “He doesn’t just look like a dog who would win prizes, does he?”

“Why not?” demanded Dan indignantly. “He’s a mighty fine-looking dog, I tell you!”

“Even if his name is Barry,” laughed Tom.

“Well, we’ve given him plenty of chances to choose a name to suit himself,” said Bob, “and he hasn’t done it. So I guess Barry will have to do.”

“It’s a good name,” said Dan stoutly. “Isn’t it, Barry?”

Barry wagged his tail. That seemed to settle it.

When, presently, they took the road again, Barry remained at Dan’s heels for the first half mile or so, like a well-trained dog. But when, after one or two experimental trips into the bushes, Barry found that his new master was not a strict disciplinarian, he cut loose. After that he was everywhere. Over walls, through fences, into this field and into that, chasing birds, scratching for field mice, and treeing squirrels, Barry had, as Dan put it, the time of his innocent young life. But he always came instantly when called, no matter how far away he might be; came like a small white streak of lightning, tongue out and eyes sparkling merrily. He was a source of constant entertainment, and the seven miles which lay between Meadowville and Kingston passed underfoot almost before they knew it. As they came in sight of the latter town a brisk shower began. For an hour past the clouds had been gathering, big and heavy, overhead, and now the thunder began to crash. Luckily they had but a short distance to go and they covered it in record time, Barry, barking hysterically, leading the flying column by six yards. They found a temporary refuge in a livery stable on the edge of town, and the terrier put in an exciting ten minutes hunting rats in the stalls. The stable keeper, a large, good-natured man, offered Dan $10 on the spot for the dog and when that offer was declined raised the price to $15. Dan was highly pleased at the compliment paid to Barry, but refused to part with him.

Presently the shower held up for a moment and they thanked their host and scampered for the nearest hotel. Here they met with difficulties. The proprietor didn’t take dogs. Dan argued and offered to pay extra, but the hotel man was obdurate. There was nothing for it but to try elsewhere, and so out they went again in a pelting rain and hurried down the street to the next hostelry. Here Barry was more welcome; he could sleep in the smoking room or in the stable. Dan decided in favor of the smoking room, borrowed a piece of cord from the clerk, and hitched Barry to the leg of a writing table. After supper, the rain having held up again, they went out and purchased a leather leash. Barry took very kindly to this and was for chewing it up until Dan explained the purpose of it to him. They played cards in the smoking room until bedtime, and then, having made Barry comfortable for the night on a piece of bagging, went to their rooms and, as was becoming after an eighteen-mile tramp, fell promptly asleep.

Dan and Nelson slept together. It was at about two o’clock in the morning – although that fact wasn’t discovered until later – that Dan awoke to find Nelson shaking him by the arm.

“Wha – what’s the row?” asked Dan sleepily.

“Barry’s raising Cain downstairs,” answered Nelson. “Listen!”

Their room was on the second floor near the stairway, and through the open transom floated a startling medley of sounds, frantic barks succeeded by blood-curdling growls, scurrying footsteps, and the crash of an overturned chair.

“That’s never Barry!” cried Dan.

“I’ll bet you it is,” said Nelson. “We’d better go down and see, anyway.”

But Dan was already bumping into furniture in an endeavor to find his trousers. Nelson followed him, but he had more difficulty than his friend in finding his apparel, and Dan was out of the room and down the stairs before Nelson’s search was finished.

Dan took the stairs two or three at a time; he wasn’t particular; and when he reached the office a strange sight greeted his startled eyes. The one gaslight was burning dimly, but it afforded sufficient illumination to show what was going on. On the office counter crouched a man. He wasn’t a very big man, nor was he very prepossessing. His clothes had seen much wear and he was badly in need of a shave. Also he was plainly frightened. And there was cause. The cause, with some two feet of brand-new leather leash hanging to his collar, leaped excitedly at the counter in a businesslike effort to get at the occupant of it, and every time he leaped he either barked or growled. Dan took in the situation in an instant, but he didn’t pretend to understand it. The hotel proprietor, however, who appeared on the scene at that moment, bearing evidences of a hurried dressing, understood it at once.

“Barry!” called Dan. “Come here, sir! Come here!”

“Let him alone,” said the proprietor. “He knows his business, that dog. What are you doing in here?” he asked sternly of the man on the counter.

“Nothin’,” was the answer. “Call off that beast, can’t yer?”

“You’ll stay where you are a minute, I guess,” answered the proprietor grimly. Then he strode to the door, unlocked it, and passed out to the porch.

“Hi, Brooks! Brooks!” he called loudly. “O Brooks!”

From somewhere near at hand came an answering hail. Then things began to happen indoors. Barry, aware of Dan’s presence, had stopped his barking and leaping and was watching his prey warily from the distance of a few feet. Dan also had his eyes on the man, but for all that he wasn’t prepared for what happened. When the answering hail came the man on the counter gathered himself quickly and made a flying leap over Barry’s head. The front door was guarded by the proprietor, and Dan stood between the counter and the door leading to the washroom and the back of the hotel. Only the stairway seemed unguarded, and toward that the man fled, Barry after him and gaining at every leap. Dan set up a shout and followed Barry. At that moment Nelson, having finally got into his trousers, appeared on the landing halfway up.

“Stop him!” cried Dan. “Stop him!”

The pursued caught sight of Nelson at the same moment and his hand flew toward his pocket. Nelson drew aside warily, but as the other plunged past he threw out his leg and the next moment Nelson and the man and Barry were all mixed up in a writhing heap on the landing. But Dan was up there in a second, Barry was thrown aside, and in a twinkling the battle was decided.

“Grab that hand,” panted Nelson. “He’s got a revolver.”

Dan obeyed and wrested the implement away. It proved, however, to be not a revolver, but a heavy, leather-covered billy about six inches long. After that the man underneath gave up the struggle and lay quiet until Mr. Brooks, who turned out to be the town constable, yanked him to his feet.

By that time most of the occupants of the hotel, including Tom and Bob, had assembled in various stages of undress, and the hubbub was considerable. Tom was wildly excited and stammered question after question. But no one paid any heed to him. A bag well filled with plated silverware, gleaned from the dining room, into which apartment the burglar had made his way by forcing a window, was found back of the counter. The officer took the names of about twenty persons, most of whom had seen nothing of the affair, and the unfortunate man was haled away to the jail. After that, for more than an hour, all the male occupants of the house sat around in the office and discussed and rediscussed the affair. Naturally, Barry and Nelson and Dan came in for much praise, Barry especially. Everyone had to pet him, and a less sensible dog might have had his head turned. But Barry took his honors modestly; in fact, he seemed rather bored by the admiration bestowed upon him. Along toward four o’clock the excitement had died down sufficiently to permit of the occupants returning to bed, and this they did, Tom bewailing loudly his ill luck in having arrived on the scene too late.

“If I had bu-bu-bu-been there,” began Tommy.

“If you had been there,” interrupted Bob unkindly, “the thief would have got away while you were choking over it.”

CHAPTER VIII

IN WHICH POVERTY CLAIMS THE FOUR

The next day was Thursday. Nelson declared it wasn’t; that it was only Wednesday; but the blue, red, and yellow calendar advertising Somebody’s Smokeless Powder, which hung in the hotel office, contradicted him. But whatever day it was it was anything but a pleasant one. Last evening’s thundershower had resolved itself into a steady, persistent drizzle. The boys woke late, in consequence of the early morning diversions, and when they looked at the sky and the muddy road they sighed. It was Tom who dared voice what all were thinking.

“This is no kind of weather to go messing around the country in,” he said disgustedly. “Besides, there’s Dan’s health to think of. Why, he’s just out of bed, as you might say!”

“A little rain won’t hurt,” said Dan half-heartedly.

“Not a bit,” agreed Bob. “It – it would be rather fun. We haven’t tried our ponchos yet, you know.”

“I fear you’re lazy, Tommy,” added Nelson sorrowfully.

“Lazy nothing! Look at that street out there and then think what the country road would be like! I’ll tell you one thing, if you fellows go, you go without little Tommy.”

“Oh, well, if you won’t go along,” said Nelson, in a somewhat relieved tone.

“If you want to make us miss a day,” continued Dan.

“I don’t think we ought to break up the crowd,” said Bob. “I don’t believe our folks would like that. So if Tommy won’t go, why, we’ll all stay here to-day and go on to-morrow. What do you say?”

“Oh, pshaw,” said Tom disgustedly; “you’re all just as anxious to stay as I am! You make me tired!”

The others grinned.

“Only consideration for your welfare, Tommy, keeps us here,” said Dan.

“Then you can ju-ju-just let my wu-wu-wu-welfare alone,” answered Tom aggrievedly.

“Not for worlds, old chap! Come on downstairs and let’s see if we can’t find something to do.”

They went down and rescued Barry from the admiring attention of the populace, which, having learned by this time of the early morning adventure, had flocked in to view the scene and the heroes.

“I wonder what they’ll do to him,” said Dan, in reference to the marauder, as they pushed their way through the crowd about the office door.

“Put him in prison, I suppose,” answered Bob.

“Reckon they won’t do anything to him just at present,” volunteered the driver of the station ’bus who was standing near by.

“Why?” asked Dan.

“’Cause,” said the driver with a chuckle, “they ain’t got him.”

“Ain’t got him!” repeated Dan ungrammatically.

“No; he broke away from Joe Brooks last night just this side of the jail. Joe fired at him and he says he hit him, but I don’t believe Joe could hit a barn door, let alone a man runnin’ like all git out! Anyway, the feller never stopped runnin’; I reckon he’s runnin’ yit!”

“Well,” said Dan, as they went out on to the porch with Barry at heel, “of course he was a thief and all that, and he had one of the toughest-looking faces I ever saw, but, just the same, I’m kind of glad he got away. He looked just about half-starved, Bob. And I’m not stuck on helping to put anyone in prison. Maybe he’ll behave himself after this.”

“Well, from what I’ve seen of the tableware,” said Bob dryly, “I guess the chap’s better off without it. I don’t believe he could have got thirty cents for the lot!”

Presently they went to writing letters, and even Tom, with the burglar episode to tell of, managed to fill two pages. Afterwards they were requested to bring Barry out to the office, and, doing so, found the proprietor and a couple of dozen others assembled waiting for them. Barry was placed on the top of the office desk and the proprietor made him a speech of thanks, frequently interrupted by laughter and applause, and when he had finished presented to the hero a new collar and leash. Dan, speaking for Barry, responded somewhat embarrassedly and the new collar was placed around the dog’s neck. Then everyone went into dinner in high good humor.

“What did you do with the old leash, Dan?” asked Tom.

“It’s upstairs. Why? It’s busted, you know.”

“I know it is. Give it to me?”

“Sure. What for?”

“Oh, nothing much,” answered Tom.

But after dinner he went up and got it and disappeared for a while. When he returned he proudly exhibited a black leather cardcase and three braided leather watch fobs.

“Where’d you get those?” asked Bob.

“At the leather store. I took the leash back and told the man it was no good; broke the first time it was used. I said I’d take something else in exchange.”

“Well, I’ll be blowed!” gasped Dan. “And he did it?”

“He didn’t want to at first. Said he hadn’t sold the leash to me. But I told him you couldn’t come yourself because you had to stay at the hotel and hold the dog by the collar to keep him from running away. Then I offered to take ninety-five cents’ worth of other goods, and that fetched him; the leash was a dollar, you know. So I got this cardcase for myself in payment for my trouble, you see, and brought those fobs for you chaps. Swell, aren’t they?”

“Oh, they’re terribly dressy,” answered Dan sarcastically. “I couldn’t think of wearing mine on ordinary occasions, Tom.”

They tried to tease him about the transaction, but Tom didn’t mind a bit; he was quite satisfied with his dickering.

“If you fellows don’t like the fobs,” he told them, “you can go back and change them. He’s got some dandy things there.”

For the rest of the afternoon they played cards in the smoking room, and Dan and Nelson won overwhelmingly. Then they took Barry out for a few minutes of exercise, and Bob squandered more money on souvenir postals and spent half an hour after supper trying to think of something to write on them. Dan and Nelson unearthed a box of dominoes and had an exciting game. Tom went to sleep in an armchair over a New York paper, and Barry, comfortably curled up in his lap, mingled his snores with Tom’s.

Friday dawned fair and cool. After breakfast they packed their baggage, paid their bills – which were suspiciously moderate – and, with the proprietor’s hearty “Come again, boys!” in their ears, swung off down the street. When they reached the country road they found that the rain had done a world of good. The dust was laid and the roadbed was hard and firm. Barry was in fine fettle and kept them laughing at his wild sorties after birds and chipmunks. From Kingston their route led diagonally across the island toward the south shore, which they intended to reach that evening. By this time their muscles were well hardened and they reeled the miles off without conscious effort.

They had brought lunch with them in case, as seemed probable, they should find no hotel on the way. And so when, at a little before noon, they reached the edge of a big pond where a cluster of willows along the edge offered inviting shade, they pitched camp.

“I tell you what let’s do,” said Nelson.

“Go ahead,” said Bob lazily from where he was stretched out on his back.

“Let’s have a swim before lunch. What do you say?”

They said various things, the tenor of which was that Nelson sometimes exhibited almost human intelligence and in the present case had evolved a brilliant idea.

“But we can’t undress here,” said Bob. “Too many autos and carriages and things going along this road. Let’s keep along here by the edge until we get away from the public.”

So they took up their packs and followed the margin of the pond and after a few minutes found themselves in a thick grove several hundred feet from the highway. Here they dropped their knapsacks, undressed, and donned their trunks, Barry viewing proceedings with eager eyes. And when they raced down to the water he leaped and barked ecstatically.

“I should think,” said Nelson severely, “that you would have had enough water to last you for some time, Mr. Dog.”

“Oh, that was salt water, wasn’t it, Barry?” answered Dan. “Let’s see if he’ll come in. Here, Barry! Sic ’em!”

Barry settled the question in an instant, plunging in beside Dan and swimming about excitedly in circles and biting at the floating twigs and leaves. The water was quite warm and, as Dan said, reminded them of Lake Chicora, by whose shore they had all spent the preceding summer. But it wasn’t deep enough for Dan, to whom bathing meant diving, and he set off along the shore in search of deeper water. The others followed, Barry retiring to the shore and barking joyfully as he trotted along. There were some residences on the opposite side of the lake, almost half a mile away, and Bob pointed them out.

“Maybe they don’t allow bathing here,” he said.

“Maybe they don’t,” laughed Nelson; “but it’s too late now. There goes Dan; he’s found a tree trunk to dive off of.”