CHAPTER XV

A STOWAWAY

“Well, are we all here?”

“Looks so--what there is of us.”

“And have we got everything?”

“Couldn’t take much more.”

It was Jerry who asked the questions, and Ned and Bob, in turn, who answered them. The big automobile stood in the yard at the side of the Hopkins homestead, stocked with the various things the boys thought they would need on their tour to the mountains to find Professor Snodgrass. In addition to their own outfit, they had with them some of the things the scientist had left behind, when he so unexpectedly departed.

Fortunately for the boys, the auto was an extra large one, capable of carrying eight passengers, and as there were but three of them they used the extra space to pack away their belongings.

In addition to extra clothing, and some provisions (you can easily imagine who oversaw to the packing of them), the boys took a small but complete camping outfit. There was a sleeping tent, a portable stove and other things, for they had decided to take their meals in the open when it was not convenient to go to a hotel over night.

It was possible, also, to sleep in the auto, in case too severe a storm made the tent undesirable. The heavy canopy of the big car would prove most effectual against rain.

The motor boys planned to make part of the trip in the auto, and part in the boat. The latter, they hoped, would be waiting for them on Silver River when they arrived.

“And we’ll have more fun aboard her than in the auto,” said Ned. “There’s more room to spread yourself, and the traveling is easier.”

“We can sleep aboard very comfortably,” added Jerry.

“And it’s a good deal easier to cook,” remarked Bob, innocently enough, whereat his chums burst into laughter.

“Oh, well, you don’t need to eat if you don’t want to, Ned!” spluttered the stout lad, for his tormentor was poking him in the ribs, under pretense of seeing how much fatter he had grown.

“Don’t let him worry you, Chunky,” consoled Jerry. “He’ll be glad enough to sit up at the table when the gong rings. Now then, help me get this trunk up on the rear,” for a trunk, containing some of the things they would not need for a time, was to be put on the luggage carrier of the auto.

“Well, boys, take care of yourselves,” cautioned Mrs. Hopkins, as Jerry took his place at the wheel. The tall lad generally did the steering for his chums.

“We’ll try to,” answered Ned.

“And, Jerry,” his mother went on, coming down the path to kiss him good-bye, “don’t be too harsh with the professor, even if you find he is against you.”

“All right, Momsey, I’ll try,” was his answer, after a moment of thought.

“And it may be all a mistake,” she added. “I’m sure I hope it will prove to be so.”

“I do, too,” added the tall lad. “All ready, fellows?”

“All right,” answered Ned, stowing away the last of his belongings.

“Let her go!” called Bob.

“We’ll go past you fellows’ houses so you can say good-bye,” Jerry announced, as he turned the lever of the self-starter and the big car moved slowly forward.

In turn, as they glided past their homes, Ned and Bob waved farewells to their folks, and then, reaching the broad highway that extended over the first part of their tour, Jerry opened the gasoline throttle a bit wider. With a hum and a roar, the powerful engine took up the burden, bearing the boys toward the mountains.

There had been busy times since they had come back from their fruitless trip to see Professor Snodgrass. The preparations for the trip occupied some time, and one day was spent in going to the swamp where the taking out of the yellow clay was in progress.

Jerry did not wish to get into a conflict--verbal or otherwise--with Fussel and his workmen, nor with Noddy Nixon, who, it appeared, was still acting as assistant foreman. So the motor boys did not approach very closely the scene of operations.

They could see, however, that a larger force of men was employed, and that considerable of the yellow clay was being taken out. It was being piled on narrow, flat-bottomed boats, that had been made purposely to float along the little canals created when the clay was cut out.

“They’re working on a big scale,” remarked Ned, as he stood beside Jerry in the motor boat, watching the operations.

“Yes, and most of their work is being done on the land my mother used to own,” replied the tall lad. “Well, maybe we’ll be able to get our rights; but it looks doubtful.”

Noddy Nixon had strolled down to the fence that marked the limits of the ownership of the Universal Plaster Company. But he had no excuse for ordering away our friends, for which he was doubtless sorry. Jerry, however, took care not to give him any chance to be insulting, if nothing worse.

Then had come the packing up and the start.

On and on sped the auto, the boys talking of many matters, and speculating as to what Professor Snodgrass would say when he saw them.

“Here, you take the wheel a while, Ned, I’m tired,” requested Jerry, after about an hour in the front seat. The car was stopped while the transfer was being made, and when they were about ready to proceed again Bob called:

“Hey! Wait a minute. I see some apples over in that field. Wait ’till I get some.”

“Eating again!” cried Jerry, with a gesture of mock despair, for Bob had been nibbling at something ever since they started.

Without waiting for assent the stout lad slipped over the fence and he had his hands and pockets full of the apples before his chums had ceased laughing long enough to object.

“They look dandy!” exulted Bob, as he climbed back over the rails. “Have some, fellows; I guess I’m some little Willie when it comes to gathering apples; eh?”

“I guess you are, son, but it’ll cost ye suthin’!” and to Bob’s astonishment a tall, lanky farmer arose from where he had been concealed in the tall grass near the fence, and laid a detaining hand on the stout lad’s shoulder.

“Hey? What’s the matter? Let me go!” spluttered Bob, so surprised that he dropped part of the fruit. Jerry and Ned, in the car, were laughing at his plight.

“Oh, I’ll let ye go all right,” said the farmer, with a grin, “but you’ve got to settle fust! I find this is the best way to collect,” he went on. “Wait until they have the goods and then nab ’em. There ain’t no way gittin’ away from that there!”

Truly it seemed so.

“How--how much do you want?” faltered Bob. He was caught red-handed. He could not deny it. And the apple tree had seemed so isolated--so far from any house.

“Wa’al, son, them apples’ll cost ye about a dollar,” said the farmer grimly. “Them’s my best Gravensteins, and right choice they be. Yep, I guess about a dollar’ll square matters.”

“A dollar!” cried Bob. “Why, I haven’t got more’n a quart of your old apples. A dollar a quart! Why, that’s thirty-two dollars a bushel!”

“Yep. Apples is kinder high this year,” went on the man, and, whether it was intentional or not, he reached down and brought into view an old shotgun.

“This is robbery!” protested Bob.

“Are you speakin’ of what you did?” inquired the farmer, with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “If ye are I agree with ye!”

“A dollar!” spluttered Bob. “I’ll never pay it.”

“Wa’al, mebby ye’d ruther come along up to Squire Teeter’s, an’ have him value them apples,” said the farmer coolly.

“Oh, here’s your dollar!” cried Bob, handing over a crumpled bill. “But it’s robbery.”

“Yep,” admitted the farmer coolly, as he pocketed the money. “That’s what the folks around here calls takin’ other people’s things--robbery.”

He sank down in the grass again, probably to wait for his next victim, while Bob, under the laughing eyes of Jerry and Ned, made his way to the auto. They started off, and Bob’s good nature came back as he viewed the apples.

“Well, they look fine, anyhow,” he said.

He set his teeth into one--after an effort--and then he let out a yell.

“Whew! Ouch! Good night!” he cried.

“What’s the matter?” asked Jerry.

“They’re as hard as rocks, and as sour as lemons!” cried Bob. “I’m stung, all right! Those apples won’t be ripe until next winter. The old skinflint! A dollar a quart! Whew!” and Bob threw the apples into the road.

They stopped for lunch beneath a big shady maple tree, near a cool spring bubbling out of a roadside hill.

“Bring that box under the back seat when you come,” called Ned to Bob, who was handing out the eatables.

“What box?” demanded the stout youth.

“The one marked ‘cakes.’ I put in a tin of fancy ones.”

“Good,” cried Bob, who had a sweet tooth.

He reached under the seat, where Ned had told him, but a look of surprise spread over Bob’s face, as he brought out an empty tin.

“They’re gone!” he cried.

“What’s gone?” asked Ned.

“The cakes!”

“They are? Then somebody’s eaten ’em! I’ll have a look!”

Ned ran toward the car, but, before he reached it, there was a movement under the seat. The leather flap was lifted up and a voice said, mildly enough:

“I ate the cake, fellows. I was hungry.”

“Andy Rush!” cried Jerry, as he saw the disheveled figure of the small chap. “How in the world did you get there?”

“Oh, I stowed away,” replied Andy, as he crawled out. “Can’t I come along, fellows? I’ll be good, and I’m awful hungry.”