Trouble at Home

The boys got into the official car with Walters at the wheel. Jack and Ken sat in the back while Paul sat in the front with the driver. Paul remarked, “Now that all that is done, our real work begins.”

“What do you mean?” asked Ken.

“Do you remember what we originally started out to solve?” Paul asked.

“I was just thinking of that,” muttered Jack. “We have gotten as far away from the original mystery as we could.”

“What are you kids talking about?” asked Walters.

“Well,” said Paul for the detective’s information, “we happened to discover the gang of counterfeiters by....”

“You don’t mean to tell me that it was you fellows who discovered them!” exclaimed the detective.

“Well, in a small way, yes.”

“That’s a rich one,” was Walters’ retort. “But go on with what you were saying.”

“What I was going to say,” continued Paul, “was that some maniac has been roaming through town and doing things, always leaving a white card to mark his visit there.”

“You don’t say!” remarked Walters. “And you’re trying to track him down?”

“That’s right.”

“How did you find out about this fellow with the white card?”

“Well, do you remember when Ken’s little sister, Betty, was reported missing for about an hour and then turned up again?”

“Why, yes, I remember the case. And I don’t think anything was done about it.”

“No,” said Paul. “But that’s how we began our investigation that led up to the discovery of 752 York Street.”

“Now that’s very interesting,” commented the detective. “How did it happen?”

“Well, you see, Jack found her all the way out on Leonard Street. Questioning her, she told him that a man bought her candy and then took her for a walk and left her there.”

“And then what?”

“Well, the man also gave her a white card. And that’s how our investigation began.”

“Wait a minute,” cried Jack, flushed with excitement. “Do you remember that all along we have been thinking that Mr. Grey was that man and that is why we were following him and all that, just waiting to jump on him?”

Ken exclaimed, “Why that is right, come to think of it.”

Walters laughed. “So Mr. Grey is the guilty party. That’s good.”

And he laughed some more. “What are we going to do, Paul?”

“We will just have to ask him, I guess,” was the reply. “I imagine he will be able to clear up a lot of details for us.”

“Yes,” said Ken, “but you don’t think he was responsible for the fires and the robbery at Professor Link’s, do you?”

“What about the fires and that robbery you are talking about?” asked Walters.

“We found that there have lately been more than an average number of fires in town.”

“That’s right,” agreed the detective. “I remember that Captain Bob has spoken to the chief about it and I think that a detective has been put on the case. I’ll find out who it is and tell him to look you up.”

The detective treated it as a good joke. While he was still laughing Paul remarked, “Yes, send him over. We may be able to give him some valuable information.”

The detective was still more amused and the boys laughed too. “That’s right, Walters,” echoed Ken, “some day when you have a case you can’t solve, call on us.”

“I think we have been talking too much,” replied the detective.

The car pulled up to the curb in front of the Morrison home. Paul and Ken, who lived across the street, jumped out. They waved to Jack and Walters as the car sped away to deliver the last of the trio home.

Paul rushed into the house and upstairs to his room. His mother as yet knew nothing about her son’s adventure. Later on, she called him to dinner. Dr. Morrison walked in. Seeing his son, he exclaimed, “Well, well! Permit me to congratulate you, my boy. I didn’t know we had a hero in the family.”

Paul blushed and became very busy with his grape fruit. Mrs. Morrison asked innocently, “A hero in the family? What are you talking about?”

Dr. Morrison waved a newspaper. “Just take a look at the evening paper and you’ll see. His picture is in there and the whole story of how he and his friends captured a gang of counterfeiters.”

Paul’s head sunk lower. So his picture was in the paper! He wondered how the reporters got it and whether Jack’s and Ken’s pictures were also in the paper. He was itching to read what the papers had to say about the affair. But his mother grabbed the newspaper and read it breathlessly. A minute later she looked up and demanded, “Paul Morrison! Will you please tell me what this is all about?”

Paul shook his head meekly. “Why nothing, Mother,” he whispered. “It just happened that I....”

He faltered and his mother said, “It just happened! I will be very glad to see you go off to college. You will be too busy there to get into mischief.”

But the next moment she smiled sweetly and and came around the table and kissed him. Dr. Morrison was beaming. He had always been proud of his son. He said, addressing his wife, “He is all right; he is one boy who can take care of himself.”

“I’m sure of that,” answered Mrs. Morrison, “but for my peace of mind I wish he would keep out of trouble. I hope college will do that—keep him out of mischief.”

Just then the maid entered and announced that Paul was wanted on the telephone. He went into the foyer and picked up the receiver. It was Jack. “Hello.”

“Hello, Paul. Are you in trouble with your family about the affair?”

“A little.”

“Well, so am I. Goodbye.”

Paul went back to the dining room. His father said, “Now, since you were a participant, do you mind telling us a few of the details?” So Paul started in to relate the whole story.

At the Armstrong home, it happened a little differently. Ken entered the house and went to wash up. Soon his father returned home from the office, carrying an evening paper. Looking around for his son, he found the boy in the library reading a story to his little sister Betty. Mr. Armstrong walked in, stood over the boy for several seconds, pretending that he was going to give him a good verbal thrashing, then exclaimed, “So! So you have decided to become a detective!”

“What’s a defective?” Betty asked innocently.

Ken and his father burst out laughing. Mr. Armstrong bent down and said to the child, “Detective, honey. The word is detective.”

Ken still laughed. He thought his little sister was cunning in the way she had said it. Turning to his son, Mr. Armstrong asked, “Well, what is it all about?”

“What does the paper say?” asked Ken.

“Here, see for yourself.” And Mr. Armstrong gave the evening paper to his son. “Your picture is in it and Chief Bates is quoted as saying that you were real heroes. Imagine it, my son a hero!”

“Well, what’s wrong with that, Dad?” asked Ken.

Just then Mrs. Armstrong entered.

Mr. Armstrong said, “Will you come here a second, Mother? I want to tell you something.” She came into the library. “Did you know that your son is a hero?” asked her husband.

“What did he do now?” she inquired calmly.

“Give your mother the newspaper, Ken.”

Mrs. Armstrong took the paper and glanced at the headlines and the pictures. She said calmly, “Nothing surprises me. What these boys can’t get into has not been invented yet. Come to dinner.”

They rose to comply. Mr. Armstrong put an arm around the boy’s shoulder and said, “You’re all right, son. But I do hope college will tame you and your friends a bit.”

They went into the dining room. When they were about half through the meal Ken was called to the telephone. It was Jack. “Hello, Ken.”

“Hello, Jack. What’s up?”

“Are you having trouble with your family about that affair?”

“No, not really. My father and mother took it very well.”

“Well, I am. Goodbye.”

Jack’s reception had been different. When he got into the house, he found his mother waiting for him. One of the neighbors, who had been out shopping returned home with an afternoon newspaper. She immediately ran over to show Mrs. Stormways the headlines and the pictures of Jack and his friends. Jack’s mother first became frightened, and was on the point of calling Chief Bates to inquire further into the matter. But then she thought it would be better to wait until her son returned. It was evident that no harm had come to him, or it would have been in the paper.

She waited for her son. At last he came and she asked him, “Well, Jack Stormways, what is this all about?”

“What is what about, Mother?”

He really did not know that the story was in the afternoon papers and that his mother knew the situation. She showed him the paper with the headlines and the pictures. His first comment was, “Not such a bad picture of me and the boys, is it, Mother?”

The remark took her breath away for a moment. His calmness and self-assurance overwhelmed her. She smiled. “Is that all you can say for yourself?” she asked.

He went over and kissed her. “What can I say, Mother?” he replied. “The story is right here and I guess I am guilty. But there was really nothing to it. I merely helped a little to capture the gang.”

“Just helped a little!” commented Mrs. Stormways. “You’re always taking some sort of risk. I don’t know what will ever happen to you.”

“Now, Mother,” pleaded Jack, “you know I can take care of myself.”

“That’s just the trouble,” she replied. “You can take care of yourself too well.”

Just then Jack’s younger brother, aged thirteen, burst into the house. Seeing Jack with his mother, he cried, “Say, I heard you were playing cops and robbers; is it true?”

Jack and his mother laughed. “Come on, Jack, tell me about it,” insisted the boy.

But Jack paid no attention to his brother. His mother said, “I just wonder what your father will say when he comes home.”

She walked out into the kitchen to continue her preparations for dinner. In due time, Mr. Stormways came home carrying an evening paper with him. As soon as he stepped into the house, his younger son cried, “Did you hear, Dad? Jack has been playing cops and robbers.”

“Yes, son, I heard all about it. Too much, in fact. What do you think we ought to do about it?”

“I think you ought to make him tell us all about it, Dad,” answered the boy. “He wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“All right, we’ll see what we can do about that. Where is he, by the way?”

“He is upstairs in his room. Shall I call him?”

“Yes, do, son. Tell him to come down for dinner. I shall be in the dining room.”

Jack came downstairs. His father was at the table. As soon as he walked into the room, his father rose and bowing, said, “May I congratulate you? Will you please tell us how it feels to be a hero?”

Jack blushed. “Oh, don’t do, that, Dad,” pleaded Jack.

But Mr. Stormways was enjoying himself. “Sit down, my hero,” he said. He led Jack to the head of the table and sat him down there, saying, “Since you are now a hero, you shall preside over the dinner table.” As Mrs. Stormways came in her husband called out, “An extra portion of everything for the hero, my dear.”

“Ah, Dad, don’t,” pleaded Jack.

But Mr. Stormways was not to be dissuaded. Sitting down, he said, “Now tell me, did you capture the gang all by yourself, or did someone help you a little?”

Jack smiled. He thought he might as well join in with his father’s humor. “Well,” he answered, “Paul and Ken did help a little, but very little.”

“Just what I thought,” remarked his father. “And tell me another thing,” continued Mr. Stormways, “did the gangsters run just as soon as they saw you or did they hesitate for a little while?”

“They immediately surrendered,” was the reply.

“Now let me think,” mused his dad, “what else was there I wanted to ask you. Oh, yes. I suppose, that as a reward for your bravery, the president himself will no doubt come here to congratulate you and bestow upon you the Congressional Medal of Honor, is that so?”

“Well, I don’t know about that, Dad,” replied Jack. “I imagine that he may be too busy to do that. But I am sure he will send a representative.”

There was a silent pause for a few seconds, then Mr. Stormways burst out laughing. “Well, seriously, fellow,” he said, “don’t you think that you ought to stop keeping company with gangsters and all that?”

“I’ll try, Dad.”

Just then Jack’s younger brother spoke up and asked for details of the story and Jack complied by telling all of it.