Adventures of Bobby Orde

by Anonymous

  XIII

  THE PLAYMATES

  Early that autumn it became expedient that Mrs. Orde and Bobby shouldvisit Grandfather and Grandmother Orde at Redding, while Mr. Orde pushedthrough certain heavy cutting in the woods. Bobby took with him his twofonts of "real" type--one a parting present from Mr. Daggett--and hisFlobert Rifle.

  The old Orde homestead covered about three acres of ground. The city hadgrown up around it. The house was a three-storied stone structure, builtfifty years before, steep of roof, gabled, low-ceilinged, old-fashionedand delightful. Bobby loved it and its explorations, from the cellarwith its bins of vegetables and fruit and its barrels of molasses, ciderand vinegar, to its attic with its black, mysterious, "behind the tank."And the three acres were a joy. Outside the picket fence were the shadetrees, their trunks nearly two feet in diameter. Then stretched thewide deep lawn, now turning dull with the approach of winter and strewnwith dead leaves. It supported the fir which Bobby always called the"Christmas Tree," and under whose wide low branches he could crawl asinto a dusty, cobwebby house; and the little birch tree with its silverbark; and the big round lilac bush, now bare, but in summer the fragranthaunt of birds and butterflies innumerable; and the round flower bed;and the horse-chestnut tree whose inedible brown-and-yellow nuts werejust right to throw or to string into necklaces; and close by the frontgate the Big Tree. Bobby firmly believed this the largest tree in theworld. It was a silver maple so great about the trunk that Bobby couldtrot about it as around a race-track. At twelve feet it branched in two,each division bigger than any shade tree in town. The branches were heldtogether by a logging chain. Above them were more divisions and more andyet more, ever rising higher and finer, until at last, far over the topsof the maples, of the elms, even of the hickory at the side of thehouse, above the highest point of the highest gable of the house itself,it feathered out in a delicate, wide lacework that seemed fairly tobrush the sky. Bobby's realization of height ceased short of thereality. Beyond that he was breathless, as one is breathless at toogreat speed. The big tree was full of orioles' and vireos' nests, oldand recent, representing the building of many summers. Out behind wasthe orchard, a dozen sturdy old apple trees, now passing the meridian oftheir powers.

  Here Bobby laboured hard with hammers and a few old boards until he hadconstructed a shield on which to tack his target. He leaned the affairagainst the thickest and tallest woodpile, placed a saw-horse for a restat fifteen yards from his mark and brought out his Flobert Rifle.

  At the third snap of the little weapon, he looked up to discover a rowof interested heads lined up along the top of the high board fence thatconstituted the Ordes' eastern boundary. He pretended not to see butshot again, very deliberately.

  "Say," shouted a voice, "I'm coming over!"

  Bobby looked up once more. One of the heads had given place to a verysturdy back and legs suspended on the Orde side of the fence. The legswriggled frantically, the toes scratched at the boards.

  "Aw, drop!" said another voice, and the second head produced a hand andarm which proceeded calmly to rap the knuckles of the one who dangled.The latter let go. Finding himself uninjured by the three-foot fall, helooked up wrathfully at his late assailant. That youth was in the act ofswinging his own legs over. The first-comer, with a gurgle of joy,seized the other by both feet and tugged with all his strength. Hisvictim kicked frantically, tried to hang on, had to let go and came downall in a heap on top of his tormentor. Immediately they clinched andbegan to roll over and over. Bobby stared, vastly astonished.

  Before he could collect his thoughts a third figure was dangling downthe boards. This one was feminine. It displayed a good deal of longblack leg, of short dull plaid skirt, a reefer jacket, two pigtails anda knit blue tam-o'-shanter. Further observation was impossible, for itdropped without hesitation and the moment it struck ground pounced onthe two combatants. Bobby saw those gentlemen seized, shaken and slappedwith hurricane vigour. The next he knew, three flushed visitors weredescending on him with ingratiating grins.

  The first, he of the pounded knuckles, was a short, sturdy, veryfair-haired youth with a wide red-lipped mouth, wide and winning blueeyes and a bit of a swagger in his walk. He was about Bobby's age. Thesecond, he of the pulled feet, was brown-haired, slightly stooped,rather nervous-faced, but with the drollest twinkle to his brown eyesand the quaintest quirk to his sensitive lips. He was about twelve yearsold. The third, the girl, was tawny-haired, gray-eyed. Her face wasalmost the exact shape of the hearts on valentines; her nose turned upjust enough to be impudent; her freckles, for she was indubitablyfreckled, were just wide enough apart to emphasize the inquiring,unabashed self-reliance of her eyes. Her figure was long and lank butmoved with a freedom and a confidence that indicated her full control ofit. She was probably just short of her 'teens.

  "Gorry!" said the first boy, "is that gun yours?"

  "Let's see it," said the second.

  "It's a beauty, isn't it? Look at the gold mounting," said the girl.

  "Look out how you handle it!" warned Bobby.

  "Why, is it loaded?" asked Number One.

  "It doesn't matter whether it's loaded or not!" insisted Bobby stoutly."It ought never to be pointed toward anybody."

  "Oh, shucks!" said Number One, reaching for the rifle.

  But Bobby interposed.

  "You mustn't touch it unless you handle it right," said he.

  "Shucks," repeated the light-haired boy, still reaching.

  Bobby, his heart beating a little more rapidly than usual, thrusthimself in front of the other.

  "Ho!" cried the other, the joy of battle lighting up his dancing blueeyes. "Want to fight? I can lick you with one hand tied behind me."

  "This is my yard," said Bobby, "and that is my gun! And besides I didn'task you to come in here, anyway."

  "Well, I can lick you, anyway," replied the other with unanswerablelogic.

  The girl had been watching them narrowly, her hands on her hips, herhead on one side. Now she interfered.

  "Johnnie, come off!" said she sharply. "No fighting! You're bigger thanhe is, and it _is_ his yard and his gun, and, anyway, he isn't afraid ofyou."

  Johnnie looked at her doubtfully, then turned to Bobby as to acompanion under tyranny.

  "That's just like her," he complained. "She always spoils things! Youain't smaller than I am, anyhow. Never mind, we'll try it sometime whenshe ain't around. Let's see your old gun. I won't point it at anybody.Show me how she works."

  Bobby, a little stiffly at first, for he could not understand fightingwithout animosity, showed them how it worked.

  "Let me try her," urged Johnnie.

  But Bobby would not until he had asked his mother, for permission toshoot had been obtained only at expense of a very solemn promise.

  "Fraidy!" jeered Johnnie, "tied to his mammy's apron-strings!"

  Bobby flushed deeply, but stood his ground.

  "It's my gun," he pointed out again. "If you don't like my yard, youneedn't come into it."

  "Oh, all right, we don't want to stay in your old yard," repliedJohnnie. "Come on, kids."

  "Johnnie, come back here," commanded the girl sharply. "You ought to beashamed of yourself! He's perfectly right! Suppose one of us should getshot!"

  "I'll get papa to shoot with us, if he will," promised Bobby.

  "Johnny, you come back here!" ordered the girl in more peremptory tones."You come back or--or--_I'll sit on your head again!_"

  Johnny came back, entirely good-natured, his attractive blue eyesglancing here and there in restless activity.

  "Oh, all right," said he. "Let's play robbers and policemen."

  "We've left Carrie over the fence," insisted the girl.

  "Bother Carrie! Why don't she climb?"

  "You come over with us," the girl suggested to Bobby. "You're BobbyOrde, of course, we know. I'm May Fowler. I live in the big square houseover that way. The boy with the yellow hair is Johnny English. The otherone is Morton Drake. Come on."

&
nbsp; "Where is it?" asked Bobby.

  "Just over the fence. That's where the Englishes live. Haven't you beenthere yet?"

  "No," said Bobby.

  He leaned his rifle in the barn and followed the disappearing trio. Hisdoubt as to how the smooth board fence was to be surmounted was soonresolved. The new-comers evidently knew all the ins and outs. In thevery end of the long woodshed stood a chicken-feed bin. By scrambling tothe top of this, it was just possible to squeeze between the edge of theroof and the top of the fence. Once there, one had the choice ofdescending to the other side or climbing to the shed roof.

  The expedition at present led to the other side. Here was no necessityof dangling, for the two-by-fours running between the posts offered agraduated descent. Bobby found himself in the back yard of a tall housethat occupied nearly the entire width of the lot. It was a veryimpressive cream-brick house. A cement walk led around it from thefront. There were no stables, no clothes-lines, no pumps, nothing toindicate the kitchen end of a residence. The swift curve of a grassedterrace dropped from the house-level to that on which Bobby stood. Fourlarge apple trees, mathematically spaced, would furnish shade in summer.That the shade was utilized was proved by the presence of a number ofsettees, iron chairs and a rustic table or so.

  "There's Carrie!" cried May Fowler. "Why didn't you come on over? Thisis Bobby Orde who lives over there. This is Caroline English."

  "We're going to play robber and policeman," announced Johnny English,cheerfully.

  "All right," said Carrie.

  She sat down behind one of those rustic tables.

  "She's police sergeant," confided Morton Drake to Bobby. "She's alwayspolice sergeant because she doesn't like to get her clothes dirty."

  "Here come the rest! Goody!" cried the alert Johnny as four morechildren came racing around the corner of the house.

  Robber and policemen was a game absurd in its simplicity. The policemenpursued the robbers who fled within the specified limits of theEnglishes' yard. When an officer caught a malefactor, he attempted tobring his prize before the police sergeant. The robber was privileged toresist. Assistance from the other policemen and rescues by the otherrobbers were permitted. That was all there was to it. The beautifulresult was a series of free fights.

  Bobby, as a new-comer, was made a robber. So were Grace Jones, Mortonand Walter. The nature of the game demanded that the oldest should bepoliceman, otherwise arrests might be disgracefully unavailing.

  At a signal from Carrie the robbers scurried away. At another thesleuths set out on the trail. Each policeman elected a robber as hisespecial prey. Bobby ran rapidly around the front of the house, dodgedpast the front steps and paused. Behind him he heard stealthy footstepsapproaching the corner of the house. Instantly he ducked forward aroundthe other corner and ran plump into the arms of Johnny English.

  That youngster immediately grappled him.

  Johnny was no bigger than Bobby, but he was practised at scuffles andhis body was harder and firmer knit. Bobby tugged manfully, but almostbefore he knew it he was upset and hit the ground with a disconcertingwhack. Of course, he continued to struggle, and the two, fiercelylocked, whirled over and over through the leaves, but in a humiliatinglybrief period Johnny had twisted him on his back and was sitting on hischest.

  "There, I told you I could lick you!" he cried triumphantly.

  "Let me up! Let me up, I tell you!" roared Bobby, kicking his legs andthreshing his arms in a vain effort to budge the weight across his body.

  Johnny looked at him curiously.

  "Why! You ain't _mad_, are you!" He shrieked with the joy of thediscovery. "Oh, kids! Come here and see him! He's getting mad!"

  Bobby's eyes filled with tears of rage. And then he saw quite plainlythe top of a sand-hill and the village lying below and the blue of theRiver far distant. And he heard Mr. Kincaid's voice.

  "But, sonny, you can always be a sportsman, whatever you do," the voicesaid, "and a sportsman does things because he likes them, Bobby, for noother reason--not for money, nor to become famous, nor even to win----"

  He choked back his rage and forced a grin to his lips--very much thesame sort that he had once accomplished when he "jumped up and laughed"at his mother's spanking, simply because he had been told to do thatwhenever he was hurt.

  "I'm not mad," he disclaimed and heaved so mighty a heave that Johnny,being unprepared by reason of shouting to the others, was tumbled offone side. Instantly Bobby jumped to his feet and scudded away.

  He was captured eventually--so were the others--but only after fiercestruggles. Even did a policeman catch and hold a robber, to drag thelatter to jail was no easy problem. For if he summoned the help of abrother officer that left at large an unattached robber who would creatediversions and attempt rescues. At times all eight were piled in abreathless, tugging, rolling mass, while Carrie, behind her rustictable, looked on serenely lest some of the simple rules of the game beviolated. In fact Carrie was just as severe in anticipation of possibleinfractions, as over the infractions themselves, which, perhaps, goesfar to explain Carrie.

  Bobby returned home at lunch time to be received with horror by Mrs.Orde.

  "You're a sight!" she cried. "_Where_ have you been, and _what_ have youbeen doing? I never saw anything like you! And look at those holes inyour stockings."

  "I've been playing robber 'n policeman with Johnny English and CarterIrvine and all the kids," explained Bobby blissfully.

  After lunch Mr. Orde kissed his son good-bye.

  "Going up in the woods for a week, sonny," said he.

  "Papa," asked Bobby holding tight to the man's hand, "can I have thekids shoot with my rifle?"

  "Not any!" cried Mr. Orde emphatically. "Not until I get back. Thenmaybe we'll have a shooting-match and invite all hands."

  He was slipping on his overcoat as he spoke.

  "Which of the boys do you like best?" he asked casually.

  "I don't know," replied Bobby after an instant's thought. "CarterIrvine's got an air-gun: I like him. And Johny English is all right,too. I wish I were as strong as Johnny English," he ended with a sigh.

  Mr. Orde paused in reaching for his valise.

  "Can he take you down?" he asked shrewdly.

  "Yes, sir!" replied Bobby with a vivid flush.

  "All right, you be a good boy, and when I get back I'll show you a fewtricks to fool Mr. Johnny," Mr. Orde chuckled. "There's a lot in knowinghow."