The Lucky Seventh

Gordon shook his head. “Not – not right away. I think I’ll see Dick first. I told him I’d be over last night.”

Fudge chuckled again. “You’re scared,” he said. “I’d be, too. Tell you what, Gordie; tell him over the ’phone, why don’t you?”

“I was thinking of letting you tell him, Fudge.”

“Me! Gee, I wouldn’t d-d-do it if he g-g-gave me the car!”

They found Dick on the porch. “Hail to the Hero!” he declaimed.

“Shut up!” said Gordon.

“Modesty is very becoming,” pursued Dick. “Hello, Fudge. I’m glad to see you in such distinguished society. Sit down, Gordie, and tell me about it. First, though, how’s Morris getting on? Lanny told me that he was pretty well broken to pieces.”

“He’s got a busted leg. Broken in two places. That’s all. He was unconscious when they brought him home, but he’s all right that way now. There isn’t much to tell. We were coming along that stretch where the white fence is and – ”

Gordon went through with it again, Fudge interpolating details where Gordon failed to do full justice to the narrative. Afterward Gordon told about his visit to the automobile agent. “I don’t know what to do,” he ended. “I hate to tell Mr. Brent what that fellow said, Dick.”

“I don’t see why. It isn’t your fault. Besides, Mr. Brent is in the wrong, anyway. It’s Morris’ duty to pay what he owes. The dealer isn’t supposed to find out before he makes a sale whether the buyer’s relatives want him to own a car!”

“That’s all very well,” grumbled Gordon, “but he will be as mad as a March hare. I don’t see why he got me to do it for him, anyway.”

“Because you’ve made a hit with him,” laughed Dick. “I believe if you asked for it you could get a yearly pass over the trolley line. And speaking of trolleys reminds me that I’ve got to hustle over to the Point and get busy with young Mr. Townsend. What time is it?”

It was almost ten, and Dick seized his crutches and swung himself hurriedly into the house to reappear a minute later ready for the journey. Gordon and Fudge walked to the corner with him.

“How about another game with those fellows, Dick?” asked Gordon. “Are you going to see Billings to-day?”

“If you want me to. There’s time enough, though, I guess. We’ve got a game with Lesterville the day after to-morrow, as you perhaps recall.”

“I know, but I was thinking we might get the Pointers to come over and play us a week from Saturday. You might see what Billings thinks about it.”

“All right. If I can find him I’ll ask. By the way, he’ll have to find someone to take Morris’ place, won’t he? Guess, though, it won’t be hard to do. Here comes my car. See you later, fellows.”

Gordon and Fudge mounted their wheels again when the trolley had rolled off and pedaled leisurely along Sawyer Street.

“Too bad,” observed Fudge, “that Dick hasn’t got that automobile, Gordie. It would save him a lot of hard work, wouldn’t it? Say, someone may run off with it if it stays out there on the road much longer. Bet you half of it’s gone already!”

There was no reply from Gordon, who was riding slowly along with his gaze fixed intently on his handle-bar.

“You ought to have hidden it behind a tree or something before you came away, Gordie.”

“Eh? Hidden what?”

“The automobile, of course. Say, what did you think I was talking about, anyway?”

“I guess I didn’t hear you,” replied Gordon apologetically. “I – I was thinking.”

“Some day you’ll be doing that and get run down by a trolley car,” commented Fudge crushingly. “What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing much,” answered Gordon. “Want to play some tennis?”

“My racket’s busted. I can borrow Lanny’s, though. But I guess it’s too hot for tennis, isn’t it?”

“Maybe. I suppose, anyway, I’d ought to see Mr. Brent and tell him what that fellow said. There’s no use putting it off. Will you come with me?”

“Not to speak of! I’d do most anything for you, Gordie, but not that!”

“Well, ride down town with me. You needn’t go in.”

“That’s fair. And I’ll try to catch you when he drops you out the window. Come on.”

CHAPTER XI

FUDGE SCENTS A SECRET

Mr. Brent was not in. The clerk, recognizing Gordon as the youth who had called previously and been admitted, explained, in answer to his look of perplexity, that Mr. Brent had been suddenly called to New York and would be gone at least overnight.

“He didn’t leave any message for me, did he?” asked the boy.

“No. He went away hurriedly. If it’s very important, you can reach him in New York by telephone this afternoon.”

Gordon departed, shaking his head. On the sidewalk he was presently joined by Fudge, who came out of Castle’s drug store, a few doors away, with a suspicious moistness about the mouth.

“You’re soon back,” he said. “Did he throw you out?”

“He’s away. Gone to New York. Now what’ll I do?”

“Do nothing. That’s easy. I should think you’d be tickled to death.”

“But that automobile can’t stay out there on the road forever, Fudge. Someone will steal it or pull it to pieces or something. I guess I’ll go over to the Brents’ and see what Louise thinks we’d better do.”

“Huh! What’s a girl know about it?” demanded Fudge. “Say, I had a soda. Want one?”

Gordon shook his head at first but finally allowed himself to be conducted to the front of the long white marble counter. A nice cold raspberry phosphate is an awfully good thing to soothe the mind, and Gordon felt more cheerful when he emerged. Fudge, who had followed his original root beer with a pineapple phosphate, confided to Gordon on the way home that he believed he’d apply at Castle’s for a job at the soda fountain.

“You see,” he explained, “I never had enough soda yet, and if I worked there I’ll bet I’d have a dandy time!”

Gordon postponed his call at Brentwood until after dinner and in the meanwhile presented his problem to his father. Mr. Merrick’s advice was caution. He thought Gordon had best let the automobile alone unless he obtained authority from Mr. Brent or perhaps Mrs. Brent to rescue it. When he reached Brentwood he asked for Louise and that young lady soon joined him. Morris, she reported, was very comfortable, considering the fact that his left leg was in a cast, but the doctor didn’t want him to see anyone quite yet. Gordon was secretly relieved, for he was afraid he wouldn’t know just how to behave or just what to say to an invalid. Louise led the way to the porch and then disappeared in search of her mother. When that lady appeared Gordon had to listen to many nice things and many expressions of gratitude, all of which embarrassed him horribly.

Mrs. Brent was a short, comfortably stout lady with soft, quiet manners and a voice to match. Gordon liked her immensely, but just now he found himself wishing that he might have escaped her. It was Louise who, noting his unhappiness, finally came to his rescue.

“There, mama, you’re embarrassing Gordon awfully. I’m sure he doesn’t want to be thanked any more. Besides, he didn’t come to make a social call; he’s here on important business. He told me so.”

Gordon explained the difficulty about the abandoned automobile and asked them what he had better do. “You see,” he pointed out, “Mr. Stacey won’t go after it unless someone tells him to. I was thinking that perhaps the best thing would be to have one of the liverymen bring it back and keep it until Mr. Brent decides about it.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say,” replied Mrs. Brent. “If Mr. Brent says he won’t pay the man the rest of the money, why, he won’t, and that’s all there is to that. But, of course, the automobile can’t stay on the road. I suppose, Louise, we oughtn’t to worry Morris with it just yet.”

“Goodness, no! What does it matter what happens to the horrid old thing, anyway, mama? Let someone bring it into town and keep it. I’m sure Morris will never want to see it again, even if papa is willing; and of course he won’t be.”