Part 25

Then they opened the door and passed in. By the way, there was something very remarkable about that door--so remarkable, in fact, that the writer, who has had great experience in the building of playhouses (don’t look for this word in a dictionary, O foreigner, but ask any little boy to interpret it for you,) here pauses to note it. Though made by boys, it not only played smoothly on its hinges, but even entered the door-case, and admitted of being fastened!

“It must have cost you fellows a good deal to fit up this old hulk,” Henry remarked, as the boys showed him proudly through the house.

“Cost!” Stephen exclaimed warmly. “I should think it did cost! Besides that hammer that I lost, an old worn-out axe perished somewhere around here, after Will had hewed a pair of new boots all to pieces while dressing the new door. Among the five of us, we’ve worn out two suits of clothes, and made three hats ashamed of themselves, just since we started to tinker up this prison house. I’ve used all the salve and plaster in our house, and the day before you came I got another cut. That reminds me, Henry, when Will hewed his new boots he cut his big toe nearly clean off--come here, and I’ll show you the bloody mark.”

“Never mind,” said Henry. “I’ve just noticed, Steve, that the doors and walls and windows are thick with bloody gore.”

“Well, it’s all ours,” Stephen declared. “We’ve broken a band-box full of old tools and things, and destroyed all our jack-knives. We have used heaps of nails, and--and--all sorts of things. Henry, we have suffered!”

Really, in heroism and fortitude these boys equalled the ancient Spartans; for they would have encountered any danger, undergone any hardship, to secure the success of their plot. Yes, they toiled as if they had a better cause in view.

The “Imposter” was next unearthed. It excited Henry’s liveliest admiration; and Steve said, as they deposited it in its hiding-place, “we’ll make it hot for you to-night, you old Atrocious Scoundrel, you!”

“Why, this is Mr. Atrocious Scoundrel, isn’t he, boys?” Henry said, beaming with delight.

“Of course he is,” the rest answered promptly.

But hold! Did not the letter state that this personage was away from home, that is from the prison? Surely, here was an oversight! Here was a quicksand! In good truth, the plot was too much for those boys to manage, and it had turned their brain.

_It had turned their brain._ Mark that, gentle reader, for it may help you to understand what is to follow shortly.

A guilty look was on Jim’s face whilst the boys spoke thus, but it escaped their notice. No, they did not suspect that there was treachery in the camp--least of all, that Jim was the traitor.

Then Henry donned his various “disguises,” and the little band of little plotters set out for the village. But Henry had not taken fifteen steps when he stumbled headlong over a submerged wheel-barrow (submerged in dense grass and rank weeds, gentle reader) and fell heavily.

“What the mischief!” he ejaculated. “Is this a demoralized sentinel, or a trap set by the hobgoblins?”

“It’s a wheel-barrow, Henry,” Will explained, “that belongs to this place.”

“Oh it _belongs_ here, does it?” Henry asked, struggling to rise.

“Yes, it’s a _fixture_, Henry, a _fixture_;” piped up Steve, who had stumbled upon this word in a time-worn document a few days before.

Then Henry essayed to trundle it out of the way; but its wheel howled so piteously for grease that he desisted, saying in disgust, “Why this is as rusty and as worthless as an heir-loom.”

“Oh, we mostly turn it upside down and straighten nails on it,” Steve said, deprecatingly.

“Now,” said Henry, as they strode on, “when you rescuers come, I shall be just behind the front door, and Stephen will be in another room or up-stairs.”

“All right,” replied one of them.

As they were proceeding towards home, Will suddenly espied Marmaduke walking leisurely up the river. Although they had prepared for such a contingency they did not expect it. Did they put faith in their “disguise,” and advance calmly to meet him? Not for one moment! Instantly the greatest consternation prevailed, and they stopped and stared at each other in blank hopelessness.

“Oh, this is awful!” groaned Charles. “Our--plot--”

“Is ruined!” Steve gasped.

“O dear!” sighed Will. “Henry, do--do you suppose--”

Marmaduke continued to advance, and presently he hailed them.

Then Will lost all control of himself, and cried wildly: “Oh, Henry, we must run for it!”

“Yes, Henry; unblind your eye, and _run_!” Steve counselled.

The Sage, who had just hit upon a stratagem to get out of the difficulty, endeavored to restore order. But he was too late, as usual; and so, seeing that the boys were bent on flight, he had sufficient presence of mind to shout: “Split, boys, split; so that when Marma--”

But Henry had already torn off the handkerchief, and he and the other demoralized plotters were flying as though pursued by a regiment of light-armed Bélître Scélérats.

When Will and his relative gained the security of their own chamber, the latter said frankly: “Well, there is a lot of nice fellows here, and I like them well.”

“Yes,” said Will, “but you haven’t seen Marmaduke yet!”

“Will, I never ran away from anybody before--and this fellow is only a harmless and innocent schoolboy!”

_Chapter XXXV._

MARMADUKE GRASPS THE SITUATION.

Early in the afternoon, according to agreement, the boys betook themselves to the banks of the stream. Here Marmaduke was to be entrapped. Henry, with his peculiar “disguises” still about him was securely hidden in a tree, from which he would be able to see and hear the whole performance.

Charles had spent the noon in making himself tolerably familiar with the letter, which he now had in a bottle in his pocket. The others were gathered round the tree which was Henry’s hiding-place. Stephen was not with them, he having gone to look for the victim and induce him to come to the river.

Just as the plotters were beginning to fear that Marmaduke would not come, after all, he and Stephen appeared, striding along towards them. They were then all excitement, knowing that if their plot succeeded it would be now or never. Charles quietly moved a few rods farther up the river, and concealed himself behind a convenient bush.

At this the enraptured reader is heard to mutter that along that extraordinary river all the bushes seem to grow just where they will be most convenient.

“Hello, Marmaduke! how are you?” Will asked, in friendly tones.

“Hello, then! Boys, I’m vexed; how is it that you shun me, and run away like shooting stars whenever you see me?”

“Well, old fellow, let us make up friends, and have no more hard feelings,” Stephen said cheerfully.

Marmaduke did not know why there should ever have been any “hard feelings;” but, not wishing to press the matter, he heaved a sigh of relief, heartily said “all right,” and sat down among them.

Then they were at a loss to know what to talk about. But finally Will hit upon the topic of mowing-machines, and then each one was called upon to give his views. Then the conversation flagged, and for full five minutes there was silence, during which Marmaduke tranquilly pared his nails, while the plotters looked at each other in growing uneasiness. Where could Charley be? Why didn’t he fling the bottled letter into the river?

“Boys, what are your plans for the holidays?” Marmaduke suddenly inquired.

At that instant a faint splash, the bottle striking the water, was heard by Jim.

“There it is!” he blurted out.

The plotters knew what he meant, though the dupe certainly did not. Nevertheless, it seemed to them that such blunders must be put down; and accordingly they bent their brows, and cast such annihilating glances at the offender that he quailed, and felt decidedly “chilly.”

Will arose and said, “Let us stroll up a little way.”

All cheerfully agreed to this proposal, though Marmaduke probably thought that by “stroll” Will meant a tramp of perhaps three or four miles. They had taken only a few steps when all except Marmaduke saw the bottle floating lazily along. The question was, how should they draw his attention to it without arousing suspicion?

Stephen was equal to the emergency. Stooping, he picked up a smooth stone, gave it a legerdemain fling, and it shot forward, performing all sorts of whimsical gyrations. As Stephen had foreseen, all the boys, Marmaduke included, observed every movement of the stone from the instant it left his hand. Then he repeated his trick with a second stone, and lo! the second stone fetched up very close to the bottle! In order to keep up appearances and carry out the deceit, he was about to cut a geometrical curve with still another stone, when Marmaduke exclaimed, “Boys, what is that floating down stream! It looks like a bottle.”

Crafty Stephen! His ruse was entirely successful.

“It _is_ a bottle!” Jim cried, in _intense_ excitement. “A bottle! A floating bottle! Isn’t that very strange, boys?”

“Yes, it’s rather curious, but it isn’t a natural phenomenon, so don’t make so much stir about it,” Will said, fearing that Jim might overdo the matter. “I’ll strip off my clothes and swim after it, boys, unless some of you would like to take a plunge into the water.”

“Let us go out on our raft; that would be the proper way to get it!” declared ceremonious Marmaduke, not knowing that the raft had been turned to better account. “Come; the raft isn’t much farther up; let us get it out, and we can soon overtake the bottle.”

Ah, plotters! your troubles were beginning already!

“Pshaw!” cried Stephen, in seeming disgust. “It would be a loss of time to go up stream to sail after a wayfaring bottle like that. But we must get it, of course.----Now, hello, who is this fellow whistling and paddling on a home-made punt across over from the other shore down towards us? ’Pon my word, it’s Charley, without his clothes on! No; they’re strapped over his shoulders. Well, this is funnier than Jim’s wonderful bottle!”

Stephen’s astonishment was not feigned, for the boys had not planned how Charles was to rejoin them after setting the bottle afloat, and his sudden appearance in this guise was a great surprise to them all.

On Marmaduke’s arrival, Charles had paddled across the river on a stout plank, launching the bottled letter on his way, and drifted down by the opposite bank till abreast of the boys. Then, having turned his rude canoe, he struck out for them boldly; and the inference was that the boy, being on the right bank of the river and seeing his comrades on the left bank, had hit upon this semi-savage means to join them. Thus Marmaduke never suspected that there was any connection between Charley and the floating bottle.

But Jim felt insulted at Stephen’s last words, and he muttered sullenly: “_’Taint_ my bottle! _I_ never put it there!”

“You look like an alligator, Charley;” Marmaduke hallooed. “Where do you come from?”

“Oh, I’ve been prowling around,” Charles shouted back.

“There’s an old bottle about opposite us,” Stephen yelled; “heave ahead and bring it here; we want to see what it means.”

“The raft would be the best to get it,” Marmaduke murmured.

Ah! if he could have known that the plank bestridden by Charley was the foundation timber of their late raft!

“You see that our plot is working!” Stephen mumbled in the Sage’s ear. “He will believe it all!”

Charles directed his barge to the mysterious bottle, seized it, and then worked his way to his companions on the bank. While he unstrapped and huddled on his clothes the bottle was passed from one to another.

Marmaduke, who had hitherto taken only a languid interest in the matter, exclaimed feverishly, on seeing that the bottle held a paper, “Give it to me! It’s mine, because I saw it first!”

In a trice he had the paper out, and was endeavoring to make out its contents. As these have already been given, it would be only a wanton waste of time and foolscap for the reader to reperuse them with Marmaduke. It might afford a hard-hearted reader considerable amusement to hear his absurd interpretations, but it is both unwise and immoral to laugh at the mistakes and the ignorance of others. It is sufficient, therefore, to say that the great difference between Henry’s style and the style of teacher Meadows’ Method bewildered the young student.

Charles waited impatiently to read for him, while the rest moved down the river and took up their stand under the old tree in which Henry was ensconced.

Marmaduke and Charles soon followed, and presently the latter ventured to say, “Perhaps I could help you, Marmaduke.”

“No you couldn’t; it’s French, and I understand French just as well as you do,” was the ungracious answer.

“Oh, is it? Well, perhaps if we should put our heads together we might be able to decipher it; for,” he added, truthfully enough, “I’ve taken a great interest in French lately, and studied it tremendously. But, say, how did French get into that bottle?”

“Let me alone; I understand French;” Marmaduke growled, becoming more and more bewildered. But at last, after ten minutes’ unceasing study of the letter, he turned so dizzy that he was fain to give it up in despair. “Here, read it, if you can,” he said, handing it to Charles. “All I can make out is that it speaks of nobles, and steamboats, and castles, and anchors, and priests, and sailors, and an English king’s yacht, and America, and pumpers, and--and--castles, and--and General Somebody--.”

Charles had made himself tolerably familiar with the letter, but he could not yet read it very readily. However, his memory served him well, and he managed to get the main points. But after all the time and learning Henry had squandered on the letter, it was too bad that it should be “murdered” thus. Marmaduke listened eagerly, too much absorbed to wonder how it was that Charles could read so much better than he. As for the other auditors, to all appearance they were at first more startled than even Marmaduke.

“Well, boys,” said he, as Charles folded the letter, and wriggled uneasily in his damp clothes, “well, boys, you jeered at me about the bones, but at last we have stumbled upon romance! Here is something mysterious!

“Boys, let us solve the mystery! If we were only gallant knights of old, what glorious deeds we should perform!”

The speaker strutted up and down as pompously as a schoolboy can, while the plotters exchanged villainous winks, and glanced eloquently at the boy in the tree.

“Read that again!” was the command, and Charles dutifully obeyed, the dupe listening as eagerly as at first. The others made no remarks, but endeavoured to look grave and horror-stricken, while the master-plotter overhead was highly entertained.

“Oh, the monstrous villain! How durst he steal away a French noble’s daughter?” Marmaduke exclaimed vehemently. “And she, the heroine, how bravely she endures her lot! What a heroine!”

“Well, what shall we do about it?” Will asked, anxious that Marmaduke himself should propose going to the rescue. Foolish plotters! they supposed he would strike in with their views without any demur!

“Why, we must send it to our Government; it is a fit subject for our new President to deal with. There will be negotiations about it between France and America; we shall become known all over the world as the finders of the letter; and finally the illustrious prisoner will be delivered with great pomp. Yes, boys, we must write to Washington immediately.”

The plotters were appalled. Marmaduke was rather too romantic. He viewed the matter too solemnly.

There was silence for a few moments, and then Charles said quietly, as though it made little difference to him what steps Marmaduke might take, “I hardly think that would be the best way, Marmaduke, because, as you say, there would be negotiations between the two countries, and the imprisoned lady might remain a hopeless captive a long time before the business could be settled and herself set free. We are too chivalrous to let her pine away in solitude; and besides, by rescuing her ourselves our renown would be increased millions!”

These words, (especially the last dozen of them), so sonorous, so eloquent, so logical, had a telling effect on Marmaduke.

“You are right!” he exclaimed. “Yes, my brave companions, we will to the rescue! We may revive the days of chivalry! Now, who will dare to go with me?”

Then those wicked plotters laboured to suppress a burst of laughter, and declared that they would all “dare” to accompany him on his hazardous expedition.

Henry in the tree looked on in wonder. “What sort of a boy was this! He talks like a sixty-year-older!” he muttered; “well, I didn’t expect him to bring on the heroics till he met me as ‘Sauterelle,’ O dear! this limb isn’t so comfortable as it used to be.”

“Oh, what a glorious day this will be for us!” the enraptured one continued. “The emperor will dub us all knights! I must have that letter, Charley; but read it again first.”

Charley did so, but the letter was growing decidedly monotonous to him.

“Boys,” said Marmaduke musingly, “it seems to me that there are hardly interjections enough in it--no expressive ones at all, and, you know, a good Frenchman never says _anything_ without several strong interjections and expletives.”

“If she was a French soldier, that would be quite right,” Charles admitted carefully. “But, she is the daughter of a noble duke.”

“If she were,” Marmaduke corrected, triumphing even in defeat. But he was open to reason, and said no more about interjections.

From time to time every boy except Marmaduke was irresistibly tempted to shoot a cheering glance toward Henry; but whenever this worthy could catch an offender’s eye through the leafy branches, he scowled so horribly that the offender instantly beheld something very attractive down the river.

“Now then, let us draw our conclusions,” said Marmaduke; “first, where can this prison be?”

“The letter says up this stream,” the Sage returned. “I--I guess perhaps it must be ‘Nobody’s House.’”

“That place! George, you are getting very crazy to say that! Well, we shall see as we go up the river; for, of course, as soon as we see the prison we shall know it’s the prison. Now, boys, see what an interesting fact is given us. The letter is dated July 10th, yesterday; therefore it has been floating only one day! How fast the current has swept it along!”

The boys had paid no attention to the date that Henry affixed to the letter, but they did not think the velocity very great.

“But, boys, there are some things strange in this;” Marmaduke observed. “In fact, there is one thing very strange--yes, _very_ strange.”

The plotters, Henry included, quaked with fear. Was their ingenious scheme, the much-loved plot, which had cost so much “blood and treasure,” to come to nought? Had Marmaduke detected some flaw in the letter which had escaped their notice? Were they about to be unmasked in all their wickedness?

O plotters, your scheme, which was based and reared on fraud, was to proceed successful to the end.

“Wh-what is wrong?” Charley asked, with a quavering voice, his lips of that “ashy hue” which good romancers delight in introducing.

“Why,” Marmaduke began, “don’t you observe, sometimes the writer addresses the finder distantly in the third person, and then again familiarly and imploringly in the second person! Now, that is ridiculous. Grammar says not to mix the second and third persons together in writing; use either the one or the other.”

At this, Henry crammed the strings of his headgear, together with his fingers, far into his capacious mouth, and forgot that the limb on which he roosted was no longer comfortable; whilst the others heaved an audible sigh of relief, perceiving that Marmaduke, instead of wishing to find fault with the letter, wished only to display his great knowledge of things and people in general, grammar in particular.

But the plotters, one and all, had been in ignorance of this gross insult to grammar. Whether Henry had not been aware of the rule as quoted by Marmaduke, or whether he had been too sleepy to observe it, is an open question. It is stated (he stated it himself, of course, for no one heard him), however, that he muttered in his throat: “Certainly, this Marmaduke is no boy at all! His language is too far-fetched for a Yankee boy. Yes; he is some stunted old crack-brained dwarf of sixty!”

As soon as Charley could collect himself sufficiently he replied in these words: “I presume that the captive was in too disturbed a state of mind to pay particular attention to such minor matters as grammar. And besides, her grammars were probably at home in France, for likely she didn’t go aboard with a satchel of school-books in her hand. Now, the _person_ considered most was evidently the _person_ who should fly to the rescue.”

“Don’t treat her woes so lightly,” Marmaduke said angrily, beginning to suspect that the boys were making fun of him.

“That ghost story is queer; what do you think of it?” asked Will, anxious to have the grammarian’s opinion of that.

“Well, you know the French are a more excitable and romantic race than we are,” was the answer. “In her solitude and misery perhaps she fancies that ghosts are hovering near, for all French people have a powerful imagination.”

Ah! the boy overhead was gifted with a more powerful imagination than any one believed.

“Or,” continued Marmaduke, recollecting what he had read in a book at home, “or, who knows but that it is some trick of Scélérat’s to terrify her? Perhaps the monster thinks to drive her distracted!”

“Perhaps he does,” sighed Steve.

“Marmaduke, how do you suppose Bélître Scélérat managed to transport the prisoners from his yacht to this prison?” George had the curiosity to ask.

The deceived one ruminated a moment and then said sagely: “Well, as modern Frenchmen are so perfectly at home in balloons, for all we know they came that way. It would not take long, and the authorities could not overhaul them.”

“The very thing!” cried delighted Stephen. “And when we go to the rescue we can capture the balloon, if it is still there! Yes, I’ve heard before that Frenchmen love balloons.”

“Stephen,” shouted Marmaduke, “you have no finer feelings.”

“Well, let us hurry to the rescue!” Charles said impatiently. “Come, when shall we go?”

“I am to be your leader in this, because I take more real interest in the prisoner than any of you,” Marmaduke returned. “Yes, _I_ must be the favored one to restore her to freedom. As to when the rescue can be made, I can’t possibly complete my arrangements till next week.”

The boys stared blankly, knowing that it would never do to defer the “rescue” till the next week. Marmaduke would certainly detect the imposture before that time.

Charles, however, soon recovered his equanimity, and said calmly: “That would be very wrong, for don’t you know the writer says she shall go mad if not rescued immediately? And she urges the finders to come this week, as Bélître Scélérat will be away. We are only boys, of course; but we are pretty lively boys, and more than a match for all his jailers.”

“Yes; but I want to meet this very man, this Scélérat.”

“O dear!” groaned Will, “if he is so anxious to meet the Atrocious, I’m afraid he’ll pounce on the ‘impostor’ as we go to hang it!”

Poor Will! The plot had quite turned his brain!

“Try chivalry again,” Stephen whispered to Charles.

“Well, we are too chivalrous to put off the rescue, only because one of us wishes to encounter this Bélître Scélérat,” cunning Charley observed. “At least,” he added, “I hope we are too chivalrous--in France they would be.”

In his hands chivalry was a mighty lever, one by which foolish Marmaduke could be turned, and made to act as they saw fit.

“Well, then, let us go this evening,” Marmaduke answered.

The plotters were delighted. By skilful management their would-be leader proved very tractable.