CHAPTER VIII A SUMMER PROPOSITION
The school year had ended in a fashion to delight the heart of everyloyal son of Truesdell, and the day following graduation found a groupof the boys lounging in Dave Wilbur’s yard, a convenient meeting-placeby reason of its central location.
“Are you going to play ball this summer, Ned?” asked Jim Tapley. “I hearthey’re looking for a pitcher on the North Shore Stars. You could makethe team easy, and there’s seventy-five a month in it plus expenses.”
Ned Blake shook his head. “Nothing doing, Jim,” he said regretfully.“I’ll admit the money would mean a lot to me, for, as you all know, I’mtrying to scrape together enough to enter college in the fall. But if Iget there, I want to play ball and this professional stuff would barme.”
“What I’d like to do is go to England on a cattle steamer,” declaredCharlie Rogers. “All you have to do is rustle hay and water for thesteers.”
“Yeah, that’s all, Red,” drawled Dave Wilbur, “and they only eat aboutfour tons a day and drink—well, they’d drink a river dry, and you sleepdown somewhere on top of the keel and eat whatever the cook happens tothrow you—unless you’re too blamed sea-sick to eat anything.”
“Well, even that would be better than hanging round this dead dump allsummer,” retorted Rogers, with some spirit.
“Dan Slade has got a job over across the lake in Canada,” announced WatSanford. “I saw him at the station yesterday when the train came throughfrom Bedford. He was bragging that he was going to pull down a hundred amonth, but he didn’t say what the job was.”
“Some crooked work probably,” remarked Tommy Beals. “Now what I’d likewould be a good job bell-hopping at some swell summer hotel. A fellowcan make all kinds of dough on tips.”
“Sure, you’d look cute in a coat with no tail to it and a million littlebrass buttons sewed all over the front!” laughed Dick Somers. “What youreally need, Fatty, is a job as soda-fountain expert, where you can getenough sugar and cream to keep your weight up to the notch.”
There was a general laugh at this in which Tommy joined good-naturedly.
“I guess what we’re all looking for is a chance to make some money thissummer,” suggested Ned. “What Red says about this being a dead dump istrue of every town, until somebody starts something. It’s up to us toshow signs of life. I don’t believe any of us would be content to loaftill next September.”
“Speak for yourself, Ned,” yawned Dave Wilbur, who, stretched at fulllength on his back, was lazily trying to balance a straw on the tip ofhis long nose. “I’m enjoying myself fine right here—and besides you wantto remember that ‘a rolling stone gathers no moss.’”
“Bony Jones got a job down at the Pavilion dance hall,” remarked Tapley.“His old man has something to do with the place and they took Bony on asassistant. Pretty soft, I’ll say.”
“I was hoping to get a chance down there with the jazz orchestra,”lamented Rogers, “but I hear they’ve brought two saxophone players upfrom Cleveland, which lets me out.”
“Tough luck, Red,” sympathized Tommy. “You and Wat ought to find achance somewhere to do a turn with sax and traps; the Pavilion isn’t theonly place.”
“What’s the matter with our running some dances of our own?” asked Ned.“The Pavilion is usually over-crowded and we ought to get some of thebusiness.”
“Who do you mean by _we_?” inquired Wat Sanford.
“Well, there’s you with the traps and Red with the sax—as Fatty has justsuggested,” began Ned. “Dick is pretty fair on the banjo and Jim canplay the piano with the best of ’em. Dave can do his stuff on theclarinet—if he’s not too exhausted—and I would make a bluff with thetrumpet. Fatty could take tickets and act as a general utility man. Thatmakes seven, all we need for a start.”
“That’s about half of the high school orchestra,” remarked Dick. “Iguess with a little practice we might get by as far as music isconcerned, but where would we run the dances?”
Several possibilities were suggested, only to be turned down asimpracticable for one reason or another.
“What we want is a place just out of town which auto parties can reachhandily,” declared Jim Tapley, who was taking a lively interest in thescheme. “We could serve refreshments and make something that way.”
“There’s one place we might do something with,” began Ned, a bitdoubtfully. “I’m thinking of the Coleson house,” he continued. “Ofcourse it’s a good ten miles out and quite a distance off the mainroad.”
“Yes, and that’s not the whole story either,” objected Rogers. “Thehouse was going to wrack and ruin even while Coleson lived in it, andlying shut up so long can’t have improved it a whole lot.”
“Guess it’s in bad shape all right,” agreed Tommy Beals. “Haunted,too—if you can believe all you hear about it. There’s talk of somemighty queer things going on out there.”
“What kind of things?” asked Wat Sanford, quickly.
“Can’t say exactly,” admitted Beals. “Some folks claim to have seen andheard things that couldn’t be explained. Last fall a darky went past thehouse after dark and was scared pretty near dippy.”
“That’s the bunk,” drawled Dave Wilbur. “D’j’ever see a darky thatwasn’t nuts on ghosts?”
“What do you say we take a run out there anyhow?” suggested Rogers.“It’s a swell day for a ride and we can go swimming; the water’selegant; I was in yesterday!”
“Bully idea, Red,” applauded Tapley. “Come on, Weary! Crank up the oldflivver!” he cried, as he stirred up the recumbent Wilbur with his toe.
Thus appealed to, Dave arose lazily to back the little car out of thegarage, and piling in, the boys settled themselves as best they couldupon its lumpy cushions.
“What do you reckon we’ll find out there, Ned?” asked Wat Sanford a bitanxiously, when the flivver after sundry protesting coughs and sputters,had finally gotten under way.
“Oh, dirt and lonesomeness, mostly,” laughed Ned. “They’re the usualfurniture of a deserted house—especially if it’s supposed to behaunted.”
Lonesomeness seemed, in truth, to pervade the very air and to settlelike a pall upon the spirits of the boys, as the flivver coughed its wayup the weed-grown drive and came to a halt before the tall, gloomy,brick front.
Charlie Rogers sprang out, and mounting the weatherbeaten steps leadingto the broad porch, rattled the great iron knob of the massive frontdoor. “It’s locked, all right,” he reported, “and these window-shuttersseem pretty solid.”
Further investigation proved this to be true of all the openings of thelower story, but at the rear of the house one window-shutter of thestory above had broken from its fastenings and swung creakingly in thebreeze.
“If we only had a ladder—” began Wat Sanford.
“That’s not necessary,” interrupted Ned. “The question is who’s got thenerve to go through that window and find his way down to open one ofthese lower shutters?”
“I’ll do it,” volunteered Dick. “That is, I will if I can reach thatwindow-sill; it’s about fifteen feet up.”
“We’ll put you there,” promised Ned, and he locked arms with DaveWilbur. The two braced themselves close to the wall of the house. Tapleyand Rogers mounted to their shoulders and Dick, climbing nimbly to thetop of this human pyramid, grasped the window ledge above and drewhimself upon it. In a moment he was inside, and pausing only long enoughto accustom his eyes to the gloom of the interior, he picked his waydown the unfinished stairs and unhooked a shutter that opened upon thefront porch. By this means the other boys entered, but paused in awe ofthe deathly stillness of the place.
“Gee! It’s like a tomb!” shivered Sanford, and struggling with awindow-fastening, he threw open another shutter at the westerly end,admitting a flood of sunlight which revealed an apartment nearly thirtyfeet square, partly paneled with oak and floored with the same material.
Opposite the ent
rance, a stairway had been completed up to its firstbroad landing, but the remainder of the flight was still in a rough,unfinished condition. Through a wide, arched doorway could be seenanother large room, evidently designed for a dining-hall but entirelyunfinished except for the floor, which, as in the case of the firstapartment, was of quartered oak.
“What’s down below?” asked Wat, as he peered through a rectangularopening into the blackness beneath. “Ugh! It looks spooky!”
“There’s nothing down there except a big cellar,” replied Ned,reassuringly. “This hole was left for the cellar stairs to be built in,but they were never even begun.”
Further investigation of the interior showed the oaken paneling to bewarped and cracked by dampness and long neglect, but the floors, beneaththeir thick covering of dust, were in fairly good condition.
“It’s the floor that we’re most interested in for our proposition,”declared Dick. “I believe that a few days of hard work with scraperswould make these two rooms fit for dancing. We could put the music onthat stair-landing and leave this whole lower space free and clear.”
“Do you think we could get a crowd to come way out here?” asked TommyBeals doubtfully. “It’s a lonesome dump even in the daytime, and atnight it is mighty easy to believe these yarns about its being haunted.”
“Why not make _that_ the big attraction!” exclaimed Ned with suddeninspiration. “Everybody is looking for thrills nowadays. We might beable to give ’em a brand new one.”
A chorus of approval greeted this suggestion.
“Bully stuff, Ned!” cried Charlie Rogers. “Great idea! And if theredon’t happen to be any honest-to-goodness ghosts on the job, we canmanufacture a few just to keep up the interest.”
“What do you think it would cost to fix up the old shebang?” askedWilbur, who, despite his rather affected laziness, was beginning to takean interest in the scheme.
“Oh, not a whole lot,” replied Ned, glancing about with an appraisingeye. “As Dick says, the floor is our chief consideration, and if we dothe work on it ourselves, the only expense will be for scrapers andsandpaper. We can string bunting and flags to cover the breaks in thewalls and ceiling. We’ll have to lay a floor over that stair-opening, orsomebody will manage to tumble through into the cellar, but I guess wecan find enough lumber around here to do the job.”
“How about lights?” inquired Sanford. “There isn’t an electric linewithin five miles.”
“We’ll use candles,” decided Ned. “A dim light will be just what we wantfor ghost stunts anyhow, and candles won’t cost much if we buy ’em inwholesale lots.”
“Shall we figure on refreshments?” asked Rogers.
“Sure thing!” asserted Dick. “The Pavilion sells ice cream and softdrinks; we can do the same and serve the stuff from the butler’s pantry.That will be just the job for Fatty!”
“Nothing doing!” objected Beals in an injured tone. “I draw the line onhanding out grub for other folks to eat, but I’ll _manage_ therefreshment business and get our darky, Sam, to serve the stuff. Samused to work in a restaurant and can do the trick in style.”
“All right, then,” announced Ned, who had, by common consent, assumedleadership, “let’s get organized into working shape. There are seven ofus, and if we chip in two dollars each, it will put fourteen dollarsinto the treasury for immediate expenses.”
This was agreed to and Tommy Beals was elected treasurer.
“Now if there’s no objection I’ll assign the various jobs,” continuedNed. “Dick and Red are to get brooms, scrapers, and whatever else theythink we need for fixing the floors. Weary and Wat will attend to thebunting and such other decorations as may be required—also the candles.Fatty and Jim will look after the matter of refreshments. The firstthing to do is to make sure that we can get the use of this house at arental that we can afford. I’ll talk to the town authorities right awayand see if we can get a lease. Let’s meet at Dave’s house tomorrowafternoon and hear reports on costs of the different items, after that,we can make definite plans.”
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