Part 11

Stephen waited eagerly and anxiously for the supposed crackers to go off. He imagined that the boys would be struck with amazement and horror to see the fire suddenly snap, and hiss, and roar, and vomit forth ashes and coals. Then he would explain how it was done, and the boys would cheer, and laugh, and say, “That’s a bully trick, Steve!” And then they would saunter off, filled with admiration and envy, forced to admit that in originality and daring Steve had no equal in the county.

But as no explosion took place, Steve became uneasy. He was of a restless disposition, and a trifle was sufficient to make him fidgety. He had not observed that the box was fabricated of wood that would not readily take fire, and he expected to hear the crackers detonate almost immediately.

“Surely it ought to be burnt clear through by this time!” he mumbled to himself. “What in the world is the matter? O dear! I hope they will go off before the people come here to see to things! Why didn’t I at least see how thick the pesky box was!”

“Oh, come along, boys, there’s no fun here, and it’s as hot as pain-killer,” an owl-eyed booby exclaimed. “Come along, boys; let’s leave this here Saucer.”

The others coincided with him, and they were actually getting into an old boat, to punt their way across the river, when Steve said imploringly, “Oh, don’t go, boys! Stay just a little longer, and you’ll see sport.”

“‘See sport’?” sneered one. “Sho! I guess all the ‘sport’ you’ll see here, will be to see yourself sun-struck! No; it’s too hot here.”

And before the trick-player could give them a hint as to what the “sport” would be, he experienced the vexation of seeing them leave the island in a body! It was hard to be cheated thus! But the worst was yet to come. A man was descried rapidly drawing near the island, in a gay little boat decked in holiday attire. A few minutes later this man made the island, and Steve recognized Mr. Lawrence. Good man, he came to see that the powder was in safety.

Will, who was the only one left, except Steve, stepped into the boat as his father stepped out, and whispering, “All right, Pa,” rowed lightly away, with a wicked chuckle of triumph.

Mr. Lawrence inclined his head in token of approval, and edged his way up to Stephen. “Good morning, Stephen,” he said. “I see you have a fire lighted early in the day.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve quavered. “O dear!” he groaned, “if people are going to keep on coming here like this, the fire-crackers will go off right before them! And then,” drawing an abysmal sigh, “there would have to be an explanation.”

Mr. Lawrence walked round the fire two or three times--so close to it that poor Steve shuddered. “If they should go off now,” he groaned, “Mr. Lawrence would be scorched and hurt!”

Stephen became very uneasy. His heated imagination magnified the power of fire-crackers, and he feared that there would ultimately be a deafening explosion. Indeed, it seemed to him that they must be gaining strength with each succeeding minute.

“Well, Steve,” said Mr. Lawrence, familiarly and pleasantly, “I hear you are quite an expert in playing tricks. Your adventure with my donkeys, now, was amusing, it is true; but, Steve, if you would keep clear of such scrapes, it would be better for you. For instance, that experience with the dog--that must have been very distressing to you, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve acknowledged; “it was.”

“But I am pleased to hear of your good behaviour since that time, and I hope that your reformation is real. I do not wish to vex you, Steve; I take the liberty of speaking to you thus because I know you are good at heart, and because you have always been a loyal friend to my son.”

Such “advice” had been dinned into the sufferer’s ears so incessantly lately that he had come to expect it and to endure it with fortitude. Still, he could not but see that Mr. Lawrence meant well, and he mumbled “Yes, sir,” very meekly.

But his mind was filled with great dread. “If they should pop off now,” he ruminated, “what would Mr. Lawrence think of me? He would think it was all my doings, of course, and that I am as bad a boy as ever! How mad he would be! Oh, why didn’t I leave those fire-crackers alone!”

“It is very warm on this island, Mr. Lawrence,” he said.

Mr. Lawrence, however, was in no humor to take hints from a school-boy, and he simply said, “So it is, Stephen. Why do you stay here, in solitude and misery? Why don’t you get up and enjoy yourself with the other boys? Surely you find no amusement in keeping up this useless little fire!”

Steve looked confused, but contrived to say, “It needs some one to watch the fire, sir; it might do a great deal of harm.”

“Oh, no, Stephen; it wouldn’t be any great loss if the fire should burn up the whole island, and all the brush and firewood piled up on it. It couldn’t spread any farther, of course. Come, come, Stephen; don’t make a martyr of yourself by staying here and broiling your face. The face looks better bronzed by the sun and the fresh air than by fire, anyway; though some ladies are not aware of it.”

“Yes, sir; but the fire might go out.”

“I wish it would, Steve; I wish it would; for no one would light it again. It was a downright shame to make a fire on this little gem of an island; but some picnickers have more romance than poetry. Well, I am going, anyway; good-bye.”

A good look at Steve’s face showed Mr. Lawrence that the graceless trickster desired to be left alone. “I think this will be a lesson to the poor boy,” he said in himself “for he is evidently suffering torments.”

Steve’s relief was great when he found himself alone. “Let me think how it was,” he muttered. “Will didn’t know where the box was. He found a box like his own, but was it the same? He didn’t open it, and I couldn’t; so perhaps there were no fire-crackers in it, after all!”

A gleam of hope shot through his wrung heart; but that gleam was soon effectually put out by this appalling thought:

“He found the box among his father’s guns--what if there is powder in it!”

He started up in horror. “But no,” he reflected, “if it had been powder, it would have exploded as soon as the box got hot, or on fire. Now, was Will playing a trick on me? No, for he didn’t know anything about it till I asked him for the fire-crackers; and I followed him around while he looked for the box. Oh, it must be some blunder of his.”

Steve could not shake off his doubts and fears, and his excited imagination conjured up all sorts of horrors.

He had just resolved to find the hateful box, or scatter the fire to the several winds, when a melancholy-looking individual, whose approach he had not perceived, landed on the island, made his way hurriedly to the fire, and sat down close beside it.

Stephen drew back in desperation, while the new-comer snatched up a stick and savagely stirred up the rather dull fire.

“Sir,” Stephen began hesitatingly, “don’t sit so close to the fire; you might get burnt.”

“Hold your tongue and let me alone, if you please! Can’t you see I’m all wet?” fiercely shouted the new-comer.

Stephen now observed that the man’s pants were clinging unnaturally close to his legs, as though he had been fording the river for scientific or other purposes, and that his entire appearance was woebegone. He waited a few minutes, and then ventured to accost the intruder again. “This is a miserable fire, sir,” he said, “and I think there is a good big bright one on shore.”

“_Can’t_ you let me alone! There is no one here except _you_, and I _must_ dry these clothes.”

“If it’s powder, I suppose it might explode yet, and he’d be killed or badly wounded,” Steve thought, in agony. “Shall I tell him? No, he would laugh at me, and take me for a downright fool. If he would only move away, I’d poke that fire till I was satisfied. What a day of suffering this has been for me! The women will soon be coming to the island--if it should explode then!”

Once more he warned the shivering picnicker. “Sir,” beseechingly, “it is dangerous to sit there; I--”

“Dangerous!” cried the stranger, his face showing surprise and contempt. “Do you take me for an ass, or are you one?” furiously. “A few years ago, I was very indulgent in my dealings with boys; but the more I see of this evil--this curse of civilization--the more impatient and exasperated I become. I don’t want to corrupt your morals, bub, or I would swear! But say one word more to me, throw out any more insinuations about this fire’s being dangerous, and I will begin the assassination of every boy under twenty by making you the first victim! So, be careful! I tell you, my patience is exhausted!”

Of course the reader recognizes the speaker as the man who jumped out of Will’s boat. But it will not be easy to recognize him as the polished gentleman who dined with Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence in days gone by. Nevertheless, we assure the reader that we are positive he is the very same.

This murderous threat seemed to amuse and comfort Mr. Sarjent, but Steve quailed beneath it. “Shall I make a confidant of any one?” he asked himself. “Not of George, for he would investigate matters, and maybe get burnt. Charley would tell me the box holds some horrible, new-fangled explosive, that will stay in the fire a long time, and get stronger and stronger, and then go off like a blowed-up pirate, and tear this island out by the roots! Perhaps it is! Who knows? Perhaps its some terrible poison that will suddenly strike us all dead, or else make us all idiotic for life! Oh! I shall go crazy! Shall I speak to Will? I--I’d be ashamed to do that. Pshaw! I couldn’t speak to anybody, if I would, for there’s no one near, except _him_.”

Stephen’s brain was now in a whirl; the strain on his nerves was too great to last long.

_Chapter XIV._

DISASTER RATHER THAN FUN

Leaving the newspaper man and the player of tricks to their different trains of thought,--the former enveloped in steam arising from his pants, the latter environed with gloom, and doubt, and mute despair, arising from his own misdeeds,--we shall shift the scene to Will paddling away in his boat.

“I can safely leave Steve now, while I look up Charley and the other boys,” Will thought, as he plied his oars.

Charley was soon found, and Will told him all about Stephen and the fire-crackers. Charley, of course, was delighted with Will’s artifice; and together the two planned to torment poor Stephen still further. With the co-operation of the other boys, they determined to execute the following programme: First, to bury the gunpowder under a large stone, on the shore farthest from the picknickers, with a boy in charge to fire the train at the proper time; secondly, to lure Stephen into a boat, row him down past the “arsenal,”--the sounding name Charles gave to the place where the powder was to be buried,--and when the explosion took place, let him infer that a catastrophe was the upshot of his trick.

In fiendish atrocity, this little plot probably outherods anything ever planned by boys. Their only hopes of success was that Steve would prove an easy victim. But they need not have been afraid; they were destined to carry their scheme.

Truly, as the ancient Romans used to say, “Fortune favors the brave.” Only, the ancient Romans probably said it in Latin.

“We can do it, Will,” Charles said, confidently, “and it will do poor deluded and misguided Stunner a good turn, if it teaches him to leave tricks to you and me. All that is necessary is, to lay our plans well, keep Steve’s back to the place where the explosion will come from, and play our parts with sober and horrified faces. The hole in the ground will be gazed at and admired about the time the picnic folks get the feast spread, and our little game will sharpen our appetites like a whet-stone. Now, let us go and find George, and Jim, and Marmaduke, and go to work.”

These worthies were hunted out forthwith; and when the plot was unfolded to them, they signified their readiness to take part in so good a trick against Stephen.

Jim threatened to do his best; but, in his own mind, determined to keep at a safe distance when proceedings actually began, though he locked this wise determination in his breast--which was capacious enough, if not strong enough, to keep it.

“It won’t amount to much, boys,” George observed, “because, you know, wet gunpowder has lost most of its virtue.”

“Why, how’s that?” Charles demanded. “Where did you find out that? Why, gunpowder hasn’t any virtue, anyhow.”

“No, of course not, what has powder to do with virtue?” Will chimed in.

“I tell you it has; don’t contradict folks that know!” the sage indignantly retorted. “Don’t you remember, John Hoyt, on that island, wasn’t afraid of being blown up, because he knew the powder had lost its virtue?”

“Y-e-s,” Charles reluctantly assented, “but I never could understand how John knew that, when he’d always lived on that island, and never seen or heard of powder before.”

“I don’t understand that, either,” said George; “but John was right; he knew--or if he didn’t, the man that wrote the book did!”

That settled the question; the Sage had triumphed.

At length everything was arranged to the plotters’ satisfaction, and the Sage was detailed to fire the train.

“You won’t see much of the fun, George,” said Charles; “but you will understand the business. I never knew you to bungle anything; don’t bungle this.”

“You can’t expect much from wet gunpowder, but if you do your part as well as I intend to do mine, _all right_!” George replied with spirit.

They picked out a very good place to fire the powder, so far away from the scene of the picnic that no one would be likely to intrude on them.

“The boats are wanted very much just now,” said Will; “I wonder whether we can get one or not.”

Now, those boys knew that they were doing wrong, and the writer ventures to assert that they all cherished a secret hope that they would not succeed in carrying their little game.

But presently a bulky old gentleman (bulky is not used in contempt, but because it is well known that bulkiness and generosity are twin brothers), who owned a staunch little boat, told them to use his boat as much as they pleased. He did not suspect, however, that a party of dare-devil boys wanted it for their own exclusive use, but supposed that one or two of them purposed rowing indolent pleasure-seekers up and down the river. Had he guessed their nefarious designs, he would have moderated his generosity, and set out in quest of a peace-officer.

Thus put in possession, the four pulled stoutly for the island. They were in some doubt as to whether Steve would still be there, for not one dreamed that he had taken the matter so much to heart.

“Steve was a little uneasy when I left him,” said Will; “how do you suppose he feels about it now?”

“Oh!” said Charles, “he’s all right, I’ll wager. You may depend he hasn’t been moping over those fire-crackers all this time. No, he’s as lively as a baulky horse by this time; but our explosion will muddle his wits, all the same.”

“He’ll get his dander up when he finds it out,” Jim observed.

“I wonder if the boats are all gone, and he’s fast on the island,” Marmaduke speculated.

“Boys,” said Will, “if that wet and muddy fellow that I told you about, went back to the island, as he said he should, perhaps he has kept Steve from finding out that--”

“Pshaw! I tell you, Steve is all right!” Charles reiterated.

“Then, if the boy is all right, what is the use of our trick?” Will demanded. “We can’t scare him worthy a cent, if he’s all right.”

“I don’t make out what you’re driving at, Will. At first, you were eager to scare him; and now, you are talking in riddles.”

“I--I’m beginning to relent,” said Will, sheepishly.

“Well, we’ll see how he is, and settle that accordingly.”

“There they are!” said Marmaduke, sighting Steve and the ireful newspaper genius.

The boys recklessly waved their oars, and enthusiastically chorused a stentorian hollo.

Stephen, hearing his schoolfellows’ greeting, quickly turned round, and returned a faint, but joyous, hollo.

“How kind they are to come!” he said to himself. “Now, I guess it will be all serene; for they can soon tell me what to do. Well, the boys always were better to me than I deserved. I’ll tell them just how it is, and I don’t believe they’ll laugh at me a bit.”

“More boys!” groaned the steaming Mr. Sarjent. “More boys coming to torment me.”

The plotters soon landed, and crowded around Stephen.

“What a fire, Steve,” said Charley. “It smells as if you’d been burning a witch.”

“Come on, Steve,” said Will; “we’ve got a good boat, and we’re off for a cruise before they set the tables.”

Steve’s face brightened, then clouded, and he said, hopelessly, “I can’t go.”

“Can’t go?” echoed Charley. “Why, Stunner, what’s the matter with you? You look like a phantom, and here you sit, like an Indian idol; taking no exercise, having no fun, and doing nothing! Come now, you’ve got to go with us.”

“Charley,” Steve whispered, “don’t joke with me, nor make fun of me, for I can’t stand it. Charley, if you should have some old fire-crackers done up in a box, and you should put ’em into a fire, what do you suppose they would do?”

“Do?” said Charley. “Why, if they were _old_, as you say, they might be mildewed, for all you or I know, and burn up with the box, like so much solid wood--or else squib and hiss a little, and then go out.”

This novel and striking idea was too much for Steve’s fevered brain. Mildewed fire-crackers! His head swam; but with an effort he recovered himself, and flashed Charles such a look of gratitude that the plot came within an inch of crumbling into a woeful ruin.

“Poor fellow!” thought Charles. “Here he is fretting about those crackers yet! It is mean to play this trick on him, when he is so worried and excited. But then he is _male-spirited_, as my father says, and I know he would like to get hold of as good a trick himself.”

“Well, Steve, will you go?” Will asked impatiently.

“’Pon my word, I believe Steve has been afraid to get into a boat ever since we were out on the lake!” Jim exclaimed maliciously.

“Don’t stay on _my_ account, bub,” sneered the man in the water-soaked garments. “I shall not be lonely without you.”

Stephen had been recovering his spirits ever since the boys arrived; and Jim’s taunt roused him to anger, while these last outrageous words stung him to the quick.

“Bub!” he repeated to himself. “That’s twice he called me _bub_! I can’t stand being called that; I never knew a boy that could. Botheration! I’ve a great mind to go with them, after all! _They_ will treat me well, and not bother me, nor call me--no, I won’t say that horrid word again. Well, surely, whatever was in the box, is burnt up now!”

Seeing that Stephen still hesitated, Mr. Sarjent took in the situation, bent a gorgon look on him, and again acted the huffer. “I made a blood-curdling threat a while ago,” he said; “I see I shall have to put it into execution, or else you will have to leave. Go, all of you!”

“My stars, Timor! I’ll show you whether I’m afraid to get into that boat, or to do anything else!” Steve cried, in desperation.

Then he caught up a stick and thrust it into the fire here and there, in spite of the peevish and browbeating stranger’s remonstrances. Of course he saw nothing of the box. Though not quite satisfied,--for it was impossible to get entirely over his uneasiness so quickly,--he stopped with a sharp--

“Boys, I’ll go!”

Jim, as recorded above, had no burning desire to go with the boys; but, for all that, he found himself in the boat, and the boat on its way from the island. Then he became alarmed, but seeing no help for it, determined to make the best of it. Two facts are well-established: first, he who accuses another of cowardice is commonly a downright coward himself; second, no right-minded boy can be called a coward without doing some foolhardy thing to prove the contrary.

Poor Steve! The artful boys had quietly had him sit with his face towards the island, and he stole uneasy glances towards it, as if still fearing an explosion. By degrees he became calmer; the fresh, sparkling water revived him; and at length he became even merry. Yet his gaiety was more assumed than real, though the others did not know it. They were delighted with the success of their plot, and thought that he would be as pleased as anybody when the shock of the explosion should be over.

“Let me row,” he said suddenly.

“No, no!” Charles said hastily. “We are going to give you a free ride, Steve; so, sit where you are, with your back against the gunwale, and watch the picnickers.”

Steve complied with this request, little knowing why it was made.

The boat glided along smoothly and swiftly, and presently a bend in the river hid the island from sight, and soon afterwards the merry-makers. Stephen still lolled comfortably in the same position. But as the distance between them and the island increased, he became restless again.

They were now approaching the falls, and would soon be opposite to George and his mine--the “arsenal,” as Charley called it.

Charley was afraid that Stephen might ask embarrassing questions about the fire-crackers, or their course, and he kept up so lively a flow of conversation that the poor boy could not edge in a word.

It was downright cruelty to humbug the boy in this deliberate and underhand way, and we do not wish to palliate their guilt. The reader, however, must bear in mind that these boys are not the sinless and noble-hearted youths who generally figure in stories, but are at all times mischievous, though rarely cruel or wicked.

As they neared the falls, Charles suddenly ceased to talk, and Steve seized the opportunity to ask eagerly, “Will, can you tell me what was in that box? I almost concluded that some mistake had been made, and that perhaps you had found it out since. _Were_ they fire-crackers?”

Will answered hesitatingly, as though ashamed of himself: “Why, yes, Steve, sure enough, a mistake was made. This morning I discovered that instead of fire-crackers, I gave you a box of my father’s, full of wet gunpowder.”

Steve’s face blanched. Not being so learned as George, it seemed to him, in his present state of mind, that wet gunpowder must be more dangerous than any other kind.

“That’s why it didn’t go off; but, if it’s there, it will go off yet!” he muttered.

Will observed the look of dismay on the boy’s face, and said soothingly, “Pshaw, Steve! Don’t be frightened; _wet gunpowder_ has no virtue; don’t trouble about it or the fire.”

Charles and Will, having thus eased their conscience, and Steve’s anxiety, felt that all the warning that duty required had been given; and unshipping their oars, let the boat drift with the stream--taking care, however, to keep close to the bank where George lurked in ambush.

But Stephen, in his awakened uneasiness, did not heed Will’s comforting remark, nor did he wonder how Will could know anything about what had been done with the box.

“Boys, we’re near the falls!” Jim cried, in terror. “Stop the boat!”

But this warning was disregarded, and Charley struck up “Yankee Doodle,” the signal agreed upon with George.

Stephen, of course, did not know what this meant; but Jim did, and he was oppressed with gloomy forebodings.

Mark this: Stephen faced the _right_ bank of the river, while George was on the _left_ bank. The island was hidden by a bend in the river. Consequently, if an explosion should take place, Stephen would naturally jump to the conclusion that it had taken place on the island.

The boat slowly but steadily neared the falls. It certainly would have been prudent to stop their downward course, but no one, except Jim, appeared to be aware of this. Charley whistled bravely, though he wondered why no sign came from George, whom the high bank, fringed with bushes, effectually concealed.