  The loss of the two ice cream freezers and the mystery surrounding them, distressed the Cubs. A dozen questions plagued their minds. Had someone stolen the freezers from the church and given them to the organization just to cause trouble? Who had tipped Old Terry that the containers would be found at the Cub party? The Cubs kept mulling over the affair and the conviction grew upon them that Pat Oswald had been responsible. “I wish we never had agreed to play the basketball series,” Midge said gloomily one afternoon the following week when the boys were at the gymnasium. “We’ll be the laughing stock of Webster City if we lose.” “Not if we lose fair and square,” Dan returned, undisturbed. “It’s no disgrace not to win. After all, it’s only a game.” “Pat and his boys from Bay Shore way have all but ruined our reputations in this town!” “The organization is under a cloud,” Dan admitted. The situation actually was more serious than he liked to acknowledge. Since the night of the party, word had spread throughout Webster City that Old Terry had caught the Cubs with property stolen from the Christian Church basement. Friends and acquaintances of the Den 2 boys knew that the tale was untrue. Whenever the Cubs encountered others repeating the story, they denied it vigorously. How well their assertions were believed, they could not tell. Never by word nor act had Mr. Hatfield even hinted that he doubted the Cubs. Repeatedly he assured them that the truth would come out in the end. Yet, sometimes the Cub leader looked so worried, the boys wondered if he weren’t keeping really bad news from them. Since the night of the party, Dan had seen Pat Oswald only once. The Bay Shore boy had come to the Cub clubroom to ask if the Purple Five might have a final practice in the gymnasium before the Friday night game. “I suppose so,” Dan had told him. “You’ll have to talk to Mr. Hatfield about it.” Pat had loitered too long to please the Cubs. Deliberately, he looked over the exhibits, the achievement lists, and especially Fred’s fort. “Heard your party was a bust the other night,” he twitted Dan. “Someone stole your ice cream, eh?” “It was a low down trick.” Dan looked the Bay Shore boy squarely in the eyes and Pat’s gaze wavered. “You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you?” “Who, me? What an idea!” Pat laughed uproarously. He slipped out the clubroom door before Dan could fire any more questions at him. The Bay Shore boys practiced the following night at the gymnasium. Brad, who witnessed the workout, reported to the Cubs that the team had improved considerably. “That Friday game will be no push-over for the Cubs,” he warned. “Dig in!” The Cubs spent every spare hour at the gymnasium, practicing baskets and working out their team plays. Both Dan and Midge were certain of final selection as forwards. Red and Chips too were improving daily in their ability to guard. Brad, at center, though he did less practicing than the others, was the surest of all the players at handling the ball. It was Chub who gave the Cubs concern. The youngster tried hard enough, but his fingers seemed coated with grease. Even if he received an easy, straight pass, he missed as often as he caught the ball. “We’ll have to use Chub as a substitute,” Brad told his teammates. “The only thing is, what if one of the regulars can’t play? Or if he goes out on a foul?” “Pat’s team is short a good substitute too,” Dan declared. “No use borrowing trouble.” He was bouncing the ball lazily down the floor, when the gymnasium door burst open. Midge and Red rushed breathlessly in, fairly bursting with news. “Come on outside, quick!” Red commanded. “Want to show you something!” Dan, Brad and Chips quickly joined the other two Cubs at the rear church steps. There stood the two ice cream freezers, the lid missing from one of the cans! “Gosh!” Chips exclaimed, staring. “Where’d they come from?” “Midge and I just brought ’em from the river.” “The river?” echoed Dan. “I don’t get it.” “Midge and I were hiking out that way,” Red explained. “All at once, we came upon these two cans.” “How did they get there?” “Someone carried ’em, that’s what,” Red went on grimly. “Pat and his gang, I’ll bet. The kids from Bay Shore play along the river a lot. They’ve made a stick and grass hut down by the Hi-Level Bridge.” “It was near the hut that we found the freezers,” Midge added. The Cubs were relieved to recover the missing containers, but uncertain what to do with them. One of the freezers seemed as good as new after they had washed out the metal cylinder which bore traces of melted ice cream. The other can was bent and the lid missing. “We looked everywhere in the brush for it,” Midge reported. “Couldn’t find it anywhere.” Brad told the Cubs that not a moment must be lost in returning the stolen property to Terry Treuhaft. “All we can do is try to explain to him again what happened, and offer to pay for the damaged freezer,” he advised. “We’ll have to return ’em,” Dan agreed uneasily. “I hate to do it though. This will give him another chance to accuse us.” No one wanted to be assigned the job of returning the recovered property to Mr. Treuhaft. Because the other Cubs were so reluctant, Dan and Brad volunteered. Both freezers were loaded into Dan’s little red wagon, and made a tight fit. As the two boys hauled the containers down the street, they imagined that everyone was staring at them. “I think half the town heard that untrue story about us taking these freezers,” Dan said uncomfortably. “Now folks will think the worst, seeing us haul them.” “We’ve done nothing dishonorable, Dan.” “I know that, Brad. All the same, I feel sort of funny. Everyone stares so.” “We could go down this alley,” Brad suggested, halting the wagon at the entranceway. “Let’s,” agreed Dan. They turned into the narrow alley, pulling the creaking wagon down the uneven bricks, past high fences and garbage cans. Unaccountably, Brad halted so suddenly that the freezers nearly tumbled off the wagon. “See what I see, Dan?” Near the exit to the alley, a group of boys were practicing basketball. A make-shift netting had been attached to the wall, serving as a basket. “Why, it’s Pat Oswald!” Dan recognized one of the players. “No wonder he has a sure eye for a basket.” “I’m not blaming him for practicing,” Brad commented in a low tone. “More power to him! But it’s tough to have to do it in an alley.” “Pat didn’t tell us about not having a practice court.” Dan now felt ashamed of himself for having resented, even secretly, the Purple Five’s use of the church gymnasium. Not wishing to appear to spy upon the Bay Shore boys, Brad and Dan would have retreated. But as they started to turn the wagon, its squeaking wheels betrayed them. “Hey, you!” Pat shouted, recognizing them. Brad and Dan then went on, well aware that the freezers they hauled would create a sensation. “Where’d you get those?” Pat demanded suspiciously. Dan brought the wagon to a stop by the high fence. “Down by the river,” he replied briefly. “Some of the Cubs found them near your hut.” “Our hut? That’s a laugh! You tryin’ to say we took your old ice cream last Friday night?” “I’m not making any accusations.” “Well, you’d better not, that’s all I got to say!” Pat retorted. He glared at Dan, and then turned to his cronies. “Come on, guys! Let’s scram! You can’t have any privacy these days, not even in an alley.” Dan and Brad watched in amusement as the Bay Shore boys clattered noisily off over the uneven bricks. The thrust about finding the freezers near the gang’s hut had found its mark, they felt. “Pat looked guilty when he saw these cans,” Brad remarked. “It burns me he’d engineer such a mean trick, especially after the Cubs have been mighty nice about the gymnasium.” Dan had been studying the make-shift basket netting fastened to the wall. A white chalk line, evidently a foul line marker had been drawn on the alley floor. “Pat and his boys must practice here often,” he remarked. “I’d judge so, by the looks of the wall!” In annoyance, Brad pointed to a phrase which had been chalked on the boards. The wording read: “The Cubs Are Sissies!” And higher up appeared the insult: “Cubs are Crooks!” Dan dropped the wagon tongue and rushed over to wipe the offending words from the wall. “This is the limit!” he fumed. “Brad, let’s call off that Friday game! Why should we play with such wretched sports?” “I know how you feel, Dan,” Brad answered soothingly. “Pat acts like a baby. He wants to get our goat.” “He’s had mine for a long while.” “We can’t very well call off the game,” Brad said slowly. “Mr. Hatfield talked it over with me only yesterday. He’s heartsick at the way Pat has been acting, but he thinks we should go ahead and set the Bay View boys an example.” “I’d rather punch ’em in the nose.” “Take it easy, Dan.” “Oh, I’ll control myself,” Dan grinned. “Anyway, I want to lick ’em in that Friday game.” “That may not be so easy.” As Brad spoke, his gaze suddenly came to focus upon knife scratchings on the board wall directly behind the other boy. Without saying more, he went over to inspect the deep cuts. “Another insult to the Cubs, I suppose,” Dan remarked. Brad’s broad shoulders blocked his view so that he could not see what it was that the Den Chief examined with such intent interest. “This is something else, Dan,” Brad said, finally moving aside. On the wall, freshly cut with a sharp knife, were the carved initials: “P. O.” “Pat Oswald,” Dan identified them. “Seems to me we’ve seen those same initials, before, Brad. I guess we know now, who wrecked the old church building!” |
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