  Mr. Holloway waited until the runaway boy came alongside the station wagon. “How about a lift into town?” he called cheerfully. The boy hesitated. His clothes were unpressed, his hair uncombed. Plainly he had been sleeping wherever he could find a bed or a haystack. “No, thanks,” he muttered, starting to turn away. “Oh, come on, you look as if you’re tired,” Mr. Holloway urged. He swung open the door of the station wagon. Jack gazed curiously at the Cubs. Apparently however, he did not remember either Dan or Brad, if indeed he had noticed them on the night of the rain storm. Finally, reassured by the friendly faces of the Cubs, Jack slid into the front seat between Mr. Holloway and Mr. Hatfield. Dan made room for him by perching himself on the Cub leader’s knees, his body blocking off the door. “Going far?” Mr. Holloway asked the boy, as he drove on. “Just into Webster City,” the other replied reluctantly. “Glad to give you a lift,” Mr. Holloway said, deliberately trying to stimulate conversation. “Which school do you attend?” “Not any right now,” the boy muttered. He squirmed uneasily. “You don’t like school, I take it?” “Not very much. I’d rather be outdoors.” “Schooling though, is a mighty useful thing,” Mr. Holloway continued. “It helps one get a better job and appreciate the good things of life.” “The good things of life!” Jack repeated with a snort. “That’s a laugh!” “You speak as if you’ve had a tough time.” Mr. Holloway deliberately was trying to draw the boy out. “Oh, I ain’t complaining,” Jack returned. “I’ve learned to get along.” “I can see that,” Mr. Holloway said dryly. “But you don’t seem too happy. This is the time of your life when you should be having a good time—playing football, ice skating, all the sports.” A flash of interest illuminated Jack’s face. But it was gone in an instant, to be replaced by a look of suspicion. “Say, what you handing me?” he demanded. “And who are all these kids?” “Cub Scouts,” explained Dan. At the other’s blank expression, he explained: “It’s an organization for boys who aren’t quite old enough to be Boy Scouts. We have a lot of fun while we’re doing helpful things.” “Our motto is: ‘Always Do Your Best,’” Mr. Hatfield supplied. “Most of the boys do exactly that.” “Sounds sort of sappy to me,” Jack said with a half-sneer. “Who wants to go around with a halo, always looking for good things to do?” “It’s more than that,” Dan defended the organization. “We have a lot of secret codes and things. Right now we’re getting ready to have a big Pack gathering based on the Knights of the Round Table. We’re making coats of armor.” Despite himself, Jack was interested. But he tried not to show it. “Kid stuff,” he scoffed. “You wouldn’t catch me being a Cub Scout. Every time you turn around, I bet someone tells you what you have to do.” “That isn’t so,” Dan denied. “Mr. Hatfield is our leader. Brad is the Den Chief, and I’m the Denner. Naturally, we make suggestions sometimes that the other fellows carry out. But we aren’t bossy about it.” “Cubs nevertheless are required to obey orders and follow the rules,” Mr. Hatfield said quietly. “Society is built upon regulations. Otherwise one would have chaos.” “When one person defies or disregards rules, it means hardship for someone else,” added Burton Holloway, driving home the point. “To heck with the rules!” laughed Jack. “That’s my motto.” “I fear such an attitude may bring you to serious trouble one of these days,” Mr. Holloway remarked with concern. “Better get on the beam, my boy.” “Say, I don’t like these sweetness and light lectures,” Jack said, his suspicions reviving. “Why’d you pick me up anyhow? You ain’t a plainclothes detective?” “No, Jack.” “You know my name!” “Yes, Jack, we do. You’re a runaway from the Child Study Institute.” Mr. Holloway now felt fairly safe in revealing his knowledge, for the station wagon approached the Institute. As he pulled alongside the gray stone building, his young passenger recognized the familiar structure. “You tricked me!” he shouted furiously. His elbow gouging Dan, he tried to push open the car door. “Let me out of here!” he cried. “No, Jack!” Mr. Hatfield said, holding him firmly by the arm. “You ran away and you must be returned here. I’m sorry.” Jack fought like a wildcat for a minute or two, but found himself quite helpless in the grip of the two men. “What’ll you gain?” he demanded bitterly. “I’ll run away again! I’ll run away a thousand times! You can’t keep me. No one can.” “You’re only cheating yourself,” Mr. Holloway told him. “Can’t you understand we’re only trying to help you? So is Mr. Wentworth and the other men at the CSI. The Court is your friend.” “That’s a laugh!” “If you keep on the way you’ve started, you’ll end up in a boys’ reformatory,” Sam Hatfield warned. “That, I can assure you, will be no fun. On the other hand, if you act sensibly and make an honest effort to cooperate, the CSI officials may give you another chance.” “Another chance for what?” “You enjoy the outdoors, Jack. Well, I happen to know that Guy Wentworth was taking you to the home of a Mrs. Jones. The place isn’t fancy and you’d have to work.” “Oh, sure!” “But the house is at the edge of the woods, close to the marsh. You could fish in summer time, trap in the winter and maybe earn a little money.” “Like fun they’d let me do anything I wanted to!” “I think it could be arranged, Jack. If you’ll give your word to make an honest effort to get along with Mrs. Jones, I’ll talk to Guy Wentworth in your behalf. How about it?” Jack did not answer for a long moment. “Maybe I will,” he said reluctantly. “I don’t know—it’s a lot to promise.” “And a promise always should be kept,” Mr. Hatfield stressed. “That’s the way it is with the Cubs. Once given, a promise never may be broken.” “Well, I’m not a Cub,” Jack said defiantly. “I’m not anything.” “You could be a Cub, Jack. You could be anything you set your mind to, for you’re a smart youngster with courage and determination. Well, what do you say?” “What do I have to promise?” “To go out to Widow Jones’ place if the court elects to return you there. Just promise to do your best, and treat her squarely. The same way she’ll treat you.” “Okay, I’ll give it a try,” Jack agreed. “You got me in a tight spot.” “No, Jack,” Mr. Hatfield corrected. “You’ve been in a tight spot for many years. I don’t want you to feel that you’re being pressured into anything. This decision must be your own.” “I gave my promise, didn’t I?” Jack growled, squirming uncomfortably. “And you mean it?” “’Course. Want me to swear on a Bible or something?” “No, Jack. We’ll just shake hands on that promise. The Cub handclasp, with two fingers extended. Here, I’ll show you.” The Cub leader demonstrated the grip used by the other boys. Then he swung open the car door, and motioned for Jack to step out. He made no further effort to hold the boy. Dan and the other Cubs watched anxiously, fearful lest Jack make a bolt for freedom. The boy seemed to be thinking of it, for he gazed up and down the nearly deserted street. Then, he drew a deep breath and faced Mr. Hatfield. “Come on,” he growled. “Let’s get it over with.” The two entered the Child Study Institute together. Mr. Hatfield was gone more than twenty minutes. Eagerly the Cubs awaited his report. “I had quite a talk with Guy Wentworth,” he said. “At first he was inclined to give the boy the works, but I convinced him otherwise.” “Will Jack be sent to Mrs. Jones’ place?” Dan questioned. “That’s the plan, if she’s still willing to take him. Mr. Wentworth has agreed Jack may have this last chance to settle down and make good. If he runs away again, though, it means the state reformatory for him.” “Do you think Mrs. Jones can handle him?” asked Burton Holloway as he started the engine of the station wagon. “Jack needs a firm hand.” “She can manage him if anyone can,” Mr. Hatfield replied confidently. “Furthermore, she needs money. It will make an ideal arrangement, providing Jack doesn’t let us down.” Mr. Holloway dropped the boys off at their various homes. “I’ll take you home next,” he said to Mr. Hatfield, when all of the passengers had been disposed of except his own son Midge, and Dan. “I can walk from Mr. Hatfield’s place,” the latter offered. “It’s only a step.” As the station wagon pulled up in front of his home, Mr. Hatfield noted at once that a black car with the numeral 145 stood at the curb. “That looks like a police car,” Dan commented. “Which means I’m in for another siege of questioning,” the Cub leader sighed. With Dan, he alighted from the station wagon. “I’m trying to cooperate, but I’ve already told police everything I know about the money box.” “Well, good luck,” Mr. Holloway said cheerfully, shifting gears. “Don’t let it get you down.” The station wagon drove off down the street. Dan started to say goodbye to Mr. Hatfield. Before he could leave however, two police officers came out of the house. “I’m Captain Eggleston,” one of the men introduced himself. He spoke directly to the Cub leader. “You’re Mr. Hatfield?” “That’s right.” “We’d like to talk to you.” “I’ll be glad to answer your questions,” Mr. Hatfield replied politely. “However, it seems pointless to keep going over the same ground. I’ve told everything I know about the missing money box.” “We still have a few questions to ask,” Captain Eggleston replied. “In fact, we have some new evidence.” “New evidence?” “May we talk to you inside the house?” “Certainly,” responded Mr. Hatfield, somewhat puzzled by the serious attitude of the police. As he started to accompany the two men, Dan turned away. “Aren’t you the boy who found the box at the church?” Captain Eggleston asked him. “Yes, sir.” “Then you may as well stick around,” the captain advised. “We may have a few questions to fire at you too!” |
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