Chapter 13

A CALL FOR HELP

"I hope you take a notion to get your mother to go around there some time to-day," Fred went on to say, as his visitor got up to leave.

"Perhaps I might," Bristles admitted; though he shook his head as if the idea did not wholly appeal to him.

"She could smooth things over a whole lot, you see," Fred continued; "and then, if by some luck, another of the little gems has disappeared since your aunt sent that note over, your mother would be able to show Aunty how unjust she had been when she hinted that you'd taken the others."

"Yes, it looks that way, Fred; and I'm obliged to you for giving me the hint," said Bristles. "But I want to think this over again. I'm going back home and stay there the whole morning, doing some high and lofty work with my head. What's the use of having brains if you can't make 'em work for you. So-long, Fred. You're sure the handy boy when it comes to making a feller see things in a new light. But I still believe it's old Black Joe, the little villain!"

After he had gone, the matter was often in Fred's mind, and he really began to grow quite excited while thinking about it.

"It may be stretching things a whole lot to believe a bird could be so smart as to take those stones," he said to himself, seriously; "but anyhow, the opportunity was there before Black Joe, if he wanted to try it. I remember that when the old lady showed me those opals, and told me how they were taken from a mine in Mexico where she had sunk a heap of money, she put them back on the cabinet shelf, and they were just lying in a little bowl with some other curiosities she had. Yes, Black Joe could fly up there, and pick out what he wanted, sure enough."

Somehow the thought was still strong in Fred's mind when, later in the morning, he started out to go over to see what Sid Wells might be doing. And it even took him out of his way, so that instead of making his usual short cut across lots to his chum's house, he passed along the street where Miss Muster (the boys called her Miss Mustard on account of her peppery temper) lived.

He even turned his head while passing, and looked in toward the rather expensive building (for a small place like Riverport) where the old maid lived alone with her colored "mammy" and her several pets.

He could see the big bulldog that was chained to his kennel, placed under the windows of the room the maiden lady slept in. Yes, Beauty was asleep on the top of his box then, curled up as if not "caring whether school kept or not."

"Boy! boy, come over here! I want you!"

Fred at first thought that it was the talking bird calling to him in this way, for he had heard Black Joe rattle along just like an educated poll parrot. Then he recognized the shrill tones of Miss Muster; and at the same moment caught sight of the maiden lady.

She was standing on her broad porch, and beckoning to him.

Being close to the gate, he pressed the latch, and passed through into the yard, where there were a great many flowers. Possibly Fred felt a queer little thrill as he walked toward the porch, where Miss Muster awaited him. He remembered the proposal Bristles had made, and which he had seen fit to turn down.

The old lady was peering at him through her glasses.

"Oh! you are the boy who was in here with my--er--nephew that time?" she remarked; and at first Fred thought she was about to say she had no use for anyone who would keep company with Bristles, but she did not, much to his relief.

"Yes, ma'am, I remember being in here with Bris--er--Andy Carpenter, once," Fred remarked. "And you were kind enough to show me a lot of mighty interesting things, too, Miss Muster. What can I do for you this morning, ma'am?"

The sharp face softened a little, and the faintest shadow of a smile crept over the old maid's features.

"Let me see, what's your name?" she asked.

"Fred Fenton, ma'am. We have not been in Riverport much more than a year. I think my mother said she met you a while ago, down in the grocery, and had a nice talk with you."

"I remember, and a fine little lady Mrs. Fenton is, to be sure. If she is your mother, boy, you've good cause to be satisfied. And I wouldn't say that about many women, either. But I was just wanting a little assistance, and called to the first person who happened to be passing along the street. My old servant is laid up to-day with an attack of lumbago; and the gardener is off on an errand that will take him two hours. Could you give me a few minutes of your time, Fred?"

"Why, yes, ma'am, sure I can. I was only going over to look up a chum, and talk about the chances we have in a boat race that is going to come off soon. What do you want me to do, Miss Muster?"

She looked at him again, with that suspicious gleam in her eyes. Somehow, Fred could not help feeling a little indignant. Because she chose to think the worst of her poor innocent nephew was no reason why Miss Muster should believe ill of every fellow.

He was almost tempted to say what he thought, and free his mind. Perhaps, then, she might understand that even a boy has feelings, and can suffer mentally, as well as bodily.

But on second thought Fred wisely kept his peace. There might be a better way to teach the old maid a needed lesson than by sharp talk, which would only serve to make her feel more bitter toward "upstart boys" in general.

Evidently Miss Muster must have gained a favorable impression from her survey of the lad, whom she had called inside.

"I guess after all there _is_ a difference in boys," she muttered, much to the secret amusement of Fred, who could easily imagine that she was comparing him with poor Bristles, and evidently much to the disadvantage of the latter.

He waited for her to speak, and wondered whether she wanted him to do something in the garden that possibly old Jake had neglected to look after, before going upon his errand; or if he would get an invitation to enter that big house again.

And as he involuntarily glanced toward the spot where the ugly-looking bulldog, called Beauty by his mistress, was now stretching his broad-beamed body, after his recent nap, Fred resolved to draw the line there. If she wanted him to approach the defender of the manse, he thought he would be showing the proper discretion if he politely but positively declined.

"Are your shoes clean, Fred?" she finally asked, looking down at his feet while putting the question.

"Why, yes, ma'am, they seem to be. There is no mud; and I'm in the habit of keeping my shoes clean at home," he replied, understanding from this remark that it must be the house, and not the garden, where his task awaited him.

"Then come into the house with me," she continued, as if thoroughly satisfied with her scrutiny.

Fred took off his cap and walked up the steps leading to the broad veranda. He would not have been a real boy had he not speculated as to what the lady wished with him. And it was in this frame of mind that he followed her into the wide hall of the house, which was to Bristles the home of mystery and the seat of all his trouble.

"Come right into this room, Fred," said Miss Muster, leading the way into what he remembered to be her living room, where she sat most of the time she was home, reading, writing letters, and paying attention to her business matters; for she had considerable money invested, and insisted on looking after the details herself, rather than trust a lawyer with them.

The first thing Fred saw upon entering was the pet cat, a big Persian, with long hair, and a handsome face. Then a restless movement from above called his attention to the raven, perched upon a curtain fixture, or pole, close to the ceiling, and, looking down wisely at them as they entered.

Fred immediately wondered whether he could be looking at the sly thief, who had been secretly making way with the old maid's treasures, as he noted the cunning aspect of Black Joe.

Miss Muster shook her finger angrily at the bird.

"Now we'll see whether you can defy me so impudently, you sly baggage!" she remarked, in rather a tart tone; and it burst upon Fred that, singularly enough, his unexpected visit to the mansion of the rich old maid was evidently in connection with something that had to, do with Black Joe.

Why, it really looked as though the luck that had come to the Fentons only the day before might still be following him, even in his desire to do his chum a good turn.

Perhaps the golden opportunity to find out something about Black Joe's tricks might be close at hand. How little he had dreamed of this when leaving his home only a few minutes before.

"Once in a great while," the lady went on to explain, "Joe gets a stubborn fit, and refuses to mind when I tell him to come to me. It always exasperates me; and twice before I've sent for the gardener to come and get the step-ladder, so that he can chase the rascal from pillar to post until finally he would fall into my grasp. I punish him by chaining him fast to that perch for a week; and as a rule he seems to amend his ways for a long time. But the last occasion failed most miserably, I must confess. Do you think you are strong enough to carry the step-ladder up from the basement, Fred?"

Fred had some difficulty in keeping his face free from a smile. The idea of her doubting his muscular ability, after all the athletic exercises he practiced; but then of course Miss Muster would not know that; so he only replied that he believed he would have no difficulty in doing all she required.