Afternoon school passed as uneventfully as the morning session and no summons from Doctor Webster reached the culprits. Each of them drew a deep sigh of relief when he was safely outside the front door of School Building; and he didn’t linger long thereabouts, but hurried off to the gymnasium to prepare for football practice.

“What did I tell you?” Spud demanded triumphantly as they went. “Horace hasn’t heard a word of it.”

“I guess you’re right,” said Dutch. “Only what I’d like to know is who was that in the orchard last night?”

“I wonder if we really did see anything, after all,” mused The Fungus.

“I didn’t,” replied Dutch.

But there was a chorus of protest from the rest.

“You bet we saw something!” cried Hoop. “I saw it all right, anyway!”

“And so did I,” said Cal and Sandy in unison.

“Well, whoever it was,” declared Ned, “it couldn’t have been one of the Old Maids, for they’d certainly have scorched the ground getting to Horace with their troubles. I’m beginning to think that Clara is right and that it really was a ghost.”

“There isn’t any such thing,” jeered Spud as they entered the gymnasium. “And, anyhow, a ghost wouldn’t have swiped Cal’s pillow-case!”

“Well, whatever it was or whoever it was,” said Sandy earnestly, “I’m glad it didn’t give us away.”

Practice that afternoon was strenuous and Cal, having accepted philosophically the fact that there was no escape for him, set to work and made up his mind to master the intricacies of the game. Not that it appeared much like a game to him, however. He spent a quarter of an hour handling the ball with others of the “awkward squad”; passing it, catching it, falling on it—when it was there!—and learning not a few of its idiosyncrasies. He discovered, for instance, that, contrary to his first impression, it was sometimes possible to tell which way the pigskin would bounce when it struck the ground. At first if a ball was dropped and he reached in one direction for it it was nominally certain to bound off at an opposite tangent. But after awhile he began to develop a certain sense of prophecy, as it were, and more often than not the ball came toward him rather than away from him. They put him with six other fellows in a line and he was informed that he was to play left tackle. For awhile that meant being shoved and knocked around in order that an apparently crazy boy with the pigskin clasped firmly to his bosom might spring from behind him somewhere and dash forward, only to deposit the ball on the turf again and repeat the performance. Cal was still appearing in his every-day clothes, since the orchard episode had quite put the thought of purchasing football togs out of his mind. But Ned recalled it to him on the way back to West House after practice and showers.

“We’ll have to make that trip to the village tomorrow, Cal,” he announced. “We’ll get Marm to let us have dinner early. Just about one more day and those trousers of yours won’t be fit to wear to anything except a dog-fight.”

Cal examined them ruefully. They did show signs of the fray, and that was a fact. The knees bulged horribly and there was a nice collection of yellowish mud around the bottoms of them. He sighed.

“All right,” he answered. “I cal’late you’re right, Ned. Maybe, though, I could just get trousers now and let the other things go until I get some money from home. Then I won’t have to borrow from you, Ned.”

“Pshaw, what’s the difference? You might as well get the whole outfit now. Four dollars will about do the trick and I can loan you two just as well as not.”

“That’s good of you,” said Cal. “I just thought—you see I ain’t ever borrowed any money before and I don’t believe my mother would like it.”

“Oh, it’s just until you get your own money,” replied Ned carelessly. “There’s no harm in that. Borrowing’s all right when you can pay back. All the fellows borrow. Spud owes fifty cents right now. I must remind him of it when he gets his next letter. Spud’s a little bit forgetful, you see. I’ll give you the money when we get to the Den.”

But Dutch Zoller challenged him to a set of tennis as soon as they got around the corner of the house and Ned forgot the money for the time being.

“Tell you what I’ll do, Dutch,” said Ned. “I’ll play you and Cal.”

Dutch viewed Cal dubiously.

“But he doesn’t play, does he?”

“No, but neither do you, Dutch; not much, that is,” replied Ned meanly. “You see, I’ll beat you in either case.”

“You could give me thirty on a game,” Dutch suggested. “That would make it more interesting for you.”

“Thirty! Well, I like your nerve! Look here, if you don’t want to play that way I’ll take Cal with me and you play against the two of us.”

“I’d rather not,” Cal protested. “I don’t know anything about it, Ned.”

“Time you did, then. And you’ll never find a softer proposition to learn on than Dutch. Come on! Get somebody’s racket from the closet under the stairs. It doesn’t make any difference whose racket you take; they’ll all kick about it. But you’d better take the best you can find!”

In the end Cal was persuaded. He secretly wanted to learn the game and not always have to sit on the end of the porch and look on. Of course his was a funny performance and when the rest of West House arrived they had a fine time watching his efforts and cheering him on to victory. At first Cal was all for giving up, but Ned told him to “buck up and not be an idiot.” “They’re only fooling,” he said. “You’ve got to learn to take a joke, Cal, or you’ll have a pretty miserable time here, old man.” So Cal thought better of it, gripped his racket until his knuckles were white and blisters began to appear inside his hands and tried his best to profit by Ned’s shouted instructions.

“Let her go, Cal! Out here, Dutch.... Forty-thirty.... Hit it, Cal! Oh, say, don’t dodge out of the way, but bat the stuffing out of it! Hit at it, anyway, Cal! All right; you’ll get on to it.... Deuce! Play!”

Even with such a severe handicap as Cal’s partnership Ned was always able to keep the game in hand, for he didn’t hesitate to invade Cal’s side of the court and take every ball that he could possibly reach. And on Ned’s service Dutch was nearly helpless. Toward the end of the set Cal began to see the humor of his wild slashes and awkward prancing and joined his laughter with that of the gallery. Once when he aimed a reckless blow at a low lob and accidentally hit it so that it sped back across the net and hit the ground just where Dutch couldn’t get it the applause from the onlookers was so tumultuous and hearty that Cal was quite proud and made up his mind then and there that he would learn tennis if he had to die for it.

“Our set,” announced Ned. “Six—four. Want to try again, Dutch?”

“If you’ll give me fifteen,” said Dutch.

But Cal declined to play any more. He was very tired and quite out of breath, and, besides, he knew that if he withdrew the others would make up a set of doubles. So he took his place on the porch and watched Ned and Hoop try conclusions with Sandy and Dutch and got not a few points in that way. Before the snow came Cal had learned the game. He never made a remarkable player, but he was able to beat both Dutch and The Fungus, and Ned had only to give him a handicap of fifteen to ensure a hard-fought match.

Ned and Hoop secured the first set, six—four, and were one game to the good on the second when supper time arrived.

“We’ll finish after grub,” said Sandy, “if it’s light enough. We’ve got them on the run, Dutch.”

“Hear the blatant boaster, Hoop,” said Ned. “Bet you, Sandy, you don’t get one more game in the set. Why, we’ve just been trifling with you so far, haven’t we, Hoop?”

“Trifling is the word,” responded Hoop gravely. “We have been merely amusing ourselves, Sandy.”

Sandy laughed with much sarcasm and Dutch emitted a word that sounded like “Yah!” and whatever it was expressed ridicule and defiance. How the second set came out Cal never learned, for at the supper table Mrs. Linn interposed.

“Miss Matilda said she had two baskets of apples for me if I’d send for them,” she announced. “And I was wondering whether two of you boys would go over for them after supper. I guess they aren’t very heavy.”

Apples and the Misses Curtis being just then dangerous topics, there was a prolonged hush about the table. The boys wondered if it would be safe to present their countenances at the Curtis front door. If the mysterious person in white had failed to recognize them last night might she not do so if she saw them again? They cast doubtful and inquiring glances at each other.

“Of course,” began Marm, “if you’d rather not—”

“Not at all,” protested Sandy gallantly. “We were just waiting modestly for you to say who you’d rather have, Marm. I’d love to go, only I’ve got a set of tennis to finish with Ned and Hoop and Dutch. But there’s Spud and The Fungus and Cal.”

“I’ll go, Marm,” said Spud.

“So will I,” said Cal.

“Bet you there won’t be many apples left by the time they get back,” said Hoop.

“Oh, I guess there’ll be plenty,” said Mrs. Linn. “So you can all have some when they come. I do think it’s kind of them to let me have so many.”

“Why shouldn’t they?” asked Spud. “Gee, they’ve got barrels and barrels of them, haven’t they?”

“Yes, but they sell most of them, I think,” replied Marm.

“Sell them! Why, I thought they had money to throw away.”

“They’re very rich, of course,” Mrs. Linn replied, “but I suppose they think they might as well turn the apples into money as have them rot on the ground. They’re beautiful apples, too.”

“They are indeed,” muttered The Fungus dreamily. “Ouch!”

“Shut up, you ninny!” commanded Sandy fiercely. The Fungus reached down and surreptitiously rubbed his shin. Mrs. Linn looked down the table wonderingly until Claire caused a diversion by asking if they might have some of the apples baked.

“Don’t you worry,” said Spud gloomily. “We’ll have ’em baked, all right; and stewed, and made into apple pies and apple pudding and all kinds of things. I hate apples.”

“Why!” exclaimed Marm. “I thought you loved them.”

Spud shook his head soberly. “No, ma’am, not since they caused all that trouble in the Garden of Eden. I used to be quite fond of them before that, though.”

“Spud, you’re an idiot,” laughed Ned. “I, for one, vote for baked apples, and lots of them.”

“Seconded,” cried Sandy. “Likewise apple pie.”

“Let’s have the pie without the bakes,” suggested Dutch. “I can always eat pie.”

“You can always eat anything,” replied Sandy severely. “And you’re too fat already. No pie for you, Dutch.”

When supper was over Cal and Spud started for the apples. As they went out the gate Ned called after them softly.

“Say, fellows, change caps or something so they won’t recognize you!”

“I wonder if they will,” said Spud uneasily as they went down the street toward the Curtis gate. “I sort of wish they’d keep their old apples to themselves, Cal.”

“I don’t believe it was either of the Miss Curtises that we saw last night,” answered Cal. “They wouldn’t be roaming around in the orchard at that time of night.”

“N-no, but it must have been someone! And who the dickens was it? Here we are. Let’s sort of keep our faces hidden as much as we can, Cal.”

That wasn’t hard to do, for it was already getting toward dusk, and when they stood on the front porch and rang the door-bell they had the light behind them. Footsteps sounded inside and Spud pulled his cap down. “Look innocent, Cal,” he whispered, “look innocent!”

Cal assumed what he fondly believed to be an expression of lamb-like innocence but which came nearer to being a look of utter idiocy, and then the door was opened and the unexpected apparition of a girl of about their own age confronted them. The messengers, who had expected to see one of the Old Maids, were so surprised that for a moment neither of them did anything but stare. Finally, though, it was Spud who blurted:

“Good evening. We—we came for the apples.”

The young lady in the doorway seemed to find this announcement distinctly amusing. She smiled and then she laughed; and then, doubtless observing the bewildered expressions on the faces before her, she stopped laughing very suddenly and said:

“I didn’t mean to laugh, really.”

Whereupon Spud murmured “Much obliged” rather vaguely, and Cal, to whom girls other than his sister Nan were novel and perplexing creatures, showed a decided disposition to retreat and leave negotiations in the hands of his companion.

“Won’t you come in?” asked the girl demurely. “I’ll tell Aunt Matilda that you’re here.”

“I guess we’ll wait outside,” answered Spud. “We just came for the apples.”

“I know.” The extraordinary young lady again showed evidences of amusement as she turned away, and Spud was almost certain that he heard her giggling as she retreated down the hall. He turned to Cal with a puzzled look.

“Say, what’s the matter with that kid?” he asked. “Do we look funny, or—or what? And who is she, anyway? I never saw any girls around here before.”

But Cal didn’t know and wasn’t interested. And then the girl came back again.

“Aunt says will you please go around to the woodshed. You’ll find her there.”

Spud thanked her and they made their way along the length of the old house to where a tall, thin lady with a very severe countenance was pushing open the woodshed doors.

“We came for the apples for Mrs. Linn,” said Spud.

“Here they are,” said Miss Matilda, pointing to two piled-up baskets standing just inside the door. “You’d better set them both outside so’s I can lock up again. And tell Mrs. Linn I’d like the baskets back tomorrow.”

Spud and Cal moved the baskets outside. The shed was dark, but light enough to show that one end of it was almost filled with barrels of apples ready for heading-up. Even if they had not seen them the odor would have told the story.

“If you want some to eat,” said Miss Matilda, “there’s a bin in that corner over there.”

“No’m, thank you,” said Spud. “We don’t care for apples.”

Miss Matilda sniffed.

“Guess you’re the first West House boys I ever heard tell of that didn’t, then,” she said. “Likely, though, you don’t care for them unless you can steal them.”

“They—they don’t agree with me,” said Spud uneasily. “Take hold, Cal. We’ll be back for the other one presently, ma’am.” Spud was in a hurry to get away, and so was Cal, and in a moment the first basket was well on its way to West House.

“I cal’late she suspects us,” said Cal when they were out of hearing. “Did you see the way she looked at us?”

“Yes, but I don’t care a rap how much she suspects as long as she doesn’t know, and make trouble for us.”

When they returned for the second basket Miss Matilda had re-entered the house, much to their relief. But as they went out a voice spoke from the end of the front porch.

“It’s easier to carry them that way, isn’t it?” asked the girl. The words were spoken quite gravely but there was laughter behind them. Neither Spud nor Cal found any reply to offer, but once inside their own gate Spud turned to Cal with a frown.

“That girl knows something,” he said decisively.

“You don’t suppose it was she who—who—”

“Of course not,” said Spud disdainfully. “A kid like that? Not likely. But I wonder what she meant by saying it was easier to carry them this way. Sounds as though she knew something, don’t it?” And Cal had to agree that it did.

Spud sought information of Mrs. Linn.

“Who is the kid they’ve got over there, Marm?” he asked as they set the basket down in a corner of the kitchen.

“Kid?” said Mrs. Linn. “Oh, you mean the little girl. Why, she’s a niece, Spud. Did you see her? Miss Matilda was telling me about her. She’s come to spend the winter with them. She’s their brother’s child; Mr. George Curtis’s, I mean. He’s gone abroad or somewhere. What is she like, Spud?”

“She’s a fresh kid,” answered Spud, “and silly. She’s pretty, though, isn’t she, Cal?”

But Cal didn’t appear to have any opinion to express.

“Miss Matilda’s a haughty dame, isn’t she, Marm? Asked us if we wanted some apples and I said no, we didn’t care for them. And she said ‘Hmph, guess you’re the first West House boys that don’t. Probably you’d rather steal them.’ What do you think of that, Marm? Is that any way for a lady to speak to a gentleman? Two gentlemen?”

“Well now, Spud, you know you boys have made a good deal of trouble for Miss Matilda. She’s sort of sharp, I’ll say that, but she’s a real nice lady.”

“She offended me deeply,” said Spud.

“I’m so glad you boys didn’t do it this year,” said Marm.

“Didn’t do what?” asked Spud, selecting an apple from a basket and setting his teeth in it.

“Why, go over there and—and trouble her apples.”

“Oh! Yes, that is nice,” answered Spud, winking across at Cal. “You need never be afraid of anything like that happening, though, Marm, while you have me in the house to—er—preserve order.”

“You run along, Spud Halladay,” laughed Mrs. Linn. “You preserve order! You’re worse than any of them.”

“Study!” yelled Sandy from upstairs.

“Sandy has a very disagreeable voice at times,” muttered Spud as he led the way out, “and this is one of the times.”

It was not until Cal had entered the Den and closed the door behind him that his eyes lighted on his roommate. Ned was standing in front of an open bureau drawer with a brown leather collar-box in his hand and a look of consternation on his face.

“Hello,” said Cal, “what’s the matter?”

Ned hesitated a moment. Then he replaced some collars in the box, put it back in the drawer and closed the drawer.

“Nothing much,” he answered finally. “Only someone—only my eight dollars is gone.”