CHAPTER XXI

MR. LISCOMB IS GRATEFUL

The return voyage began at twenty minutes to ten o’clock. At eleven they made The Flat, and, as Pud swung the launch’s nose toward the outlet of the river, they looked toward the end of the nearer island. There were two fishermen there. One was clad in khaki trousers, a cotton shirt, and a wide-brimmed, sugar-loaf-crowned straw hat. He was bent motionless at the end of a weathered old punt, and beside him on the seat, apparently no less intent on the business in hand than his master, sat a yellow hound.

‘Gee,’ murmured Pud, ‘I wonder if he’s been there ever since!’

They did the two miles to Corbin in quick time, the current aiding, and tied up at the dock where they had stopped before. To Pud was delegated the not altogether pleasant task of communicating by telephone with Millville, and he set off with little relish for the nearest drug-store. Fortunately, Lank and Cocker had not found the small cardboard box in which Pud kept his money. Probably they would have made a thorough search of the launch in the course of time, had it remained with them, but, as it was, they seemed not to have even looked into the lockers. Anyhow, the money was safe, and the fact made it possible for Pud to telephone without the necessity of reversing charges. Even so, it required all of ten minutes to get his house in Millville. Then his mother’s voice came to him, quite as if she were just around the corner of the prescription counter, instead of thirty-odd miles away as the crow flies!

‘Pud, dear, is that you? Are you sure you’re all right? Your father just telephoned that they’d found you. Where _have_ you been? Didn’t you know we’d be worried to death at not hearing a single word from you?’

‘Well, but, Mother, I _did_ write! I――’

‘Yes, I know, dear. It just came this morning, that letter. It had been missent to some other place. You know, dear, you don’t write very carefully sometimes. And there was a letter from your Great-Aunt Sabrina, too, telling how you caught the robber that night. She wrote quite a lengthy letter, and sent a piece from the Livermore paper that praises you up wonderfully! I think it was most heroic, Pud, dear, and you must tell me all about it when you get back. Are you coming home to-night?’

‘Gee, ma, I don’t see how we can! We’ve got to stop in Livermore and see the sheriff there. Say, was Aunt Sabrina mad about us staying in her house that night?’

‘Why, no, of course she wasn’t! She was just awfully thankful, I suspect, that you were there. My, she’d have been heartbroken if the thief had taken her silver, Pud!’

‘Well, he was going to take it, all right,’ responded Pud. ‘He had it all dumped in a bag and――’ Just then a voice broke in to remind him that he had talked three minutes and he ended hurriedly. ‘Back to-morrow afternoon, sure, Ma! Sorry you were worried. Yes’m! Yes’m! Good-bye!’

Well, that hadn’t been so bad, after all, he reflected, mopping his perspiring brow as he backed from the booth. And the Livermore paper had had a piece about them catching the robber! Gee, that was great! He hurried back to spread the news to Tim and Harmon. Tim said they could maybe buy a copy of the paper when they got to Livermore. They bought enough gasoline to get them back to Millville and enough food to last them much farther! But they had missed two meals, and none of them were quite certain that they’d ever get thoroughly caught up!

Pud figured that they’d have to do about nineteen miles before they reached Livermore again. It was twenty minutes to twelve when they cast off at Corbin, and if they averaged five miles an hour they should reach Livermore by four. They debated the question of making a return visit to Aunt Sabrina. Tim was in favor of it, but Pud, despite the fact that Aunt Sabrina was doubtless grateful to them, displayed no enthusiasm. Besides, there was Harmon. Aunt Sabrina would undoubtedly view Harmon askance. She was, as Pud recalled, convinced that negroes were invariably thieves. She might allow him to sleep in the stable, but even that was uncertain. On the whole, Pud decided, it would be better to camp somewhere below the town and not bother Aunt Sabrina. Tim accepted the verdict with a sigh. Probably now he never would taste that lady’s cocoanut cake!

Various well-remembered landmarks met their gaze as the launch chugged down the Fox, but it seemed a week rather than three days since they had last viewed them. Tim found the branch up which they had fled from the kidnapers and pointed it out, getting a disgusted ‘Humph!’ from Pud. It was mid-afternoon when, having lunched to repletion, Pud’s still rather torpid gaze lighted on something ahead and to the right that had a strangely familiar look. Then he remembered.

They were back at the clearing where they had rescued Gladys Ermintrude, and there, just as they had last seen it, was the faded green shanty-boat, with, as Pud uneasily discovered the next moment, smoke issuing from the stovepipe in its roof. The river was wide enough to let them pass well distant, and Pud instantly swung the launch’s bow toward the farther side. The tumble-down wharf, farther along, peered around the corner of the shanty-boat and Pud set his gaze on it and wished it were already abeam. Tim, too, had now recognized the scene and drew Pud’s attention.

‘_S-sh!_’ Pud whispered, motioning for silence. ‘They’re in there!’

‘Oh!’

Then a spot of color appeared on the shanty-boat’s narrow deck, a hand waved, and a friendly ‘Oo-hoo!’ came to them.

‘It’s Gladys Ermintrude,’ said Tim eagerly.

‘Well, what if it is?’ inquired Pud coldly, refraining from joining the other in signals of response.

‘Oo-hoo! Come on over!’ called Gladys Ermintrude.

Pud scowled. If only she had stayed inside a minute or two longer! Tim said, ‘Let’s see what she wants, Pud.’ Pud hesitated, muttered, and swung the launch across the stream. ‘All right,’ he said as they neared the shanty-boat and Gladys Ermintrude, ‘only don’t blame me if――if something happens!’

‘Hello,’ said Gladys Ermintrude gayly as they came close.

‘Hello,’ replied Tim.

‘Hello,’ echoed Harmon from the stern.

‘Huh,’ muttered Pud, and viewed her suspiciously. Then he turned his suspicions toward the interior, wondering whether the girl had been, as before, the sole occupant of the cabin. Gladys Ermintrude was explaining that she had been back there for two days and was having a perfectly glorious time.

‘Huh,’ said Pud. ‘What you been doing?’

‘Oh, lots of things,’ answered the girl brightly. ‘Fishing and hunting and――’

‘Cooking,’ supplied Pud. ‘Your ma said you were a good cook.’

Gladys Ermintrude accepted the tribute with unconcealed delight, to Pud’s vast astonishment. ‘Well, I just am,’ she declared. ‘I made the grandest cake yesterday!’

Tim’s eyes grew luminous and he moistened his lips.

‘I wish you’d come then instead of to-day. Pa and Uncle Asa ate the last of it this morning.’

Tim’s eyes gloomed and he sighed. Tim had a notable weakness for cake.

‘I suppose,’ observed Pud, foiled in his first attempt to create confusion, but determined still, ‘you’ll be going into moving pictures this fall.’

‘Moving pictures? Oh, my, no! What a funny idea!’

‘I’ll say so,’ agreed Pud heartily, ‘but it was your idea and not mine. You said you were studying to be a screen star, didn’t you?’

‘Did I?’ Gladys Ermintrude’s gaze wandered afar. ‘How very strange. I simply don’t remember――’

From beyond the open window came a sudden sound that might have been a short cough. It had its effect on all who heard it. Pud grasped the wheel again and darted a meaning look at Tim. Tim’s hand moved toward the fly-wheel. Harmon stared in solemn suspicion. Gladys Ermintrude laughed lightly and continued rather hurriedly:

‘Yes, I do remember now. I did say something like that, didn’t I? But of course it was merely――merely a childish fancy.’

‘Gee,’ said Pud, ‘you’re full of childish fancies, aren’t you? Like fancying you were kidnaped and that your name was Gladys Evinrude and――and――’

‘Aw, Pud,’ murmured Tim deprecatingly.

‘Well, she did――is! She told a lot of whoppers and made goats of us, didn’t she? Had us chasing up and down the river in the dark and――’

‘Oh, well,’ said Tim, ‘what of it? It was sort of fun, I guess――’

‘I don’t tell “whoppers,” Pud!’ declared the girl heatedly. ‘Maybe I did let you think things, but――’

‘Think things! Gee, I suppose we “thought” you were kidnaped before you told us! Didn’t you say, right there where you are now, that you’d been kidnaped from your happy home and that――’

‘Why, sakes alive! How ever can you think up such outrageous stories? I’m sure I never said I’d been kid――’

Another sound from within!

‘_Start her up!_’ whispered Pud hoarsely.

‘Well, maybe I did say so,’ corrected Gladys Ermintrude flurriedly, ‘but――but I’m sure I didn’t mean to make any trouble――’

‘Aw, that’s all right,’ muttered Tim. ‘You mustn’t mind Pud. He just――’

Then, as he turned the wheel over and, having failed to put the spark on, got no response from the engine, appalling sounds came from the shanty-boat’s interior, sounds that were unmistakably those of heavy footsteps, and, before the alarmed Tim could try the engine a second time, a tall figure appeared behind the lesser form of Gladys Ermintrude! It was a man who confronted them, a tall, wide-shouldered, bearded man. Pud’s heart sank. This was undoubtedly the ‘grateful’ Mr. Liscomb!

‘Well, boys,’ said the apparition in a surprisingly pleasant, deep voice that, because of its striking similarity to hers, placed him instantly as Gladys Ermintrude’s father, ‘we meet at last!’

To Pud’s surprise, Mr. Liscomb was smiling in a very friendly fashion, and, seen close-to, was not at all the desperate-looking person Pud had thought him. Just the same, Pud’s suspicions were not wholly quieted, and, although he cleared his throat, no words came. At least, not from Pud; nor yet from Tim nor Harmon. Gladys Ermintrude, though, still had the power of speech.

‘Yes,’ she was saying, ‘these are the boys who were so very kind to me, Father. This is Pud and that one’s Ted――no, Tim, and that’s Harmon back there. Harmon cooks wonderfully, Father.’

‘Does, eh? Well, Tibbie, if I had a wonderful cook I’d look after him better. They’ve let him sit out in the sun until he’s all tanned up!’

Pud and Tim smiled embarrassedly, but Harmon gave the joke full value and exploded into ‘Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!’ Then he as suddenly subsided into silent solemnity. Mr. Liscomb chuckled and, one arm over his daughter’s shoulders, turned his gaze back to Pud.

‘You look mighty familiar to me,’ he said. ‘Live around here, Pud?’

‘No, sir, Millville,’ Pud managed.

‘Millville? Guess I don’t know any one in Millville. What’s the rest of your name?’

‘Pringle,’ said Pud. ‘Anson Pringle.’

‘Anson Pringle? Then your father’s Pringle, of the _Courant_ up there! You’re Anson Pringle, junior, eh?’

‘I suppose so,’ allowed Pud. ‘Folks call me Pud, usually.’

‘Well, well! Why, I know your father, son, know him right well. Both newspaper men, you see. I’m assistant editor of the Corbin _Journal_. You tell him you met Bill Liscomb, will you? Tell him you ran off with his girl!’ The speaker chuckled, and Pud ventured a doubtful grin.

‘She said――’ he murmured. ‘I mean, you see, we didn’t understand――exactly――’

‘Oh, that’s all right, Pud! You don’t need to apologize. Here’s the culprit right here.’ He gave Gladys Ermintrude a hug. ‘She’s a pretty good sport, boys, but she’s got an imagination about ten sizes too large for her, and she reads too many silly stories and sees too many foolish movies. But we’re going to change all that, aren’t we, Tibbs? We’re going to cut out the novels and most of the movies for awhile, eh?’

Gladys Ermintrude assented readily, even gayly.

‘Yes, we had a little――ah――conference the other day after she got home and she promised to be more careful of her statements. She’s going to get the upper hand of that powerful imagination of hers pretty soon. I wouldn’t be surprised if, after a while, she got so you could believe every word she tells you!’

‘Why, Father!’ murmured the girl in shocked tones. ‘How can you speak so before strangers?’

‘Oh, I guess they can stand it,’ her father chuckled. ‘Which way are you boys heading? Down the river, eh?’

‘Yes, sir,’ answered Pud, ‘we’re going home. We’re going as far as Livermore to-night.’

‘I’ll bet you’ve had a fine time, too. It’s a wonderful thing to get away into the quiet of the woods and streams for a few days now and then!’

‘Yes, sir,’ agreed Pud, wondering if the word ‘quiet’ was just the right one!

‘Wish I could ask you-all to stay and have supper with us,’ went on Mr. Liscomb genially, ‘but I guess we’d be rather crowded, and I’m not too sure we’d have enough for all hands. Sort of depends on what my brother brings home when he comes.’

‘We――I guess we’d better not,’ said Pud. ‘Thank you very much, sir.’

‘Not at all. Glad to have you if you want to take a chance. I feel sort of indebted to you for the way you looked after this young lady, boys. Mighty fine of you to do it. My regards to your father when you get home, Pud. And good luck to you!’

Gladys Ermintrude waved as long as they were in sight. So did Tim. Pud had a somewhat thoughtful look when, presently, Tim came forward and seated himself.

‘I suppose,’ said Pud after a moment, ‘it’s sort of a habit with her.’

‘What is? Who?’

‘Gladys Evinrude: telling those fairy stories like she does. You know, Tim, I used to sort of――sort of――’

‘I’ll say you did,’ chuckled Tim.

‘Well, I never told regular whoppers like she does,’ Pud defended. ‘I never said anything that wasn’t so, did I? Did you ever know me to tell a lie?’

‘No-o, but――but, gosh, you can make folks think things that ain’t so, Pud!’

‘Sure. But I don’t tell lies. She does, you might say. Only she doesn’t mean ’em to be lies, I suppose. She――she’s fanciful. That’s her trouble. I guess we oughtn’t to be too hard on her, Tim.’

‘Well, who was hard on her, I’d like to know? I wasn’t!’

‘I guess a fellow _can_ see too many movies,’ continued Pud thoughtfully. ‘That is, he can, if he has a――an imagination to start with. I guess I’ll cut them out, Tim.’

‘All of them?’ asked Tim anxiously.

Pud shifted uneasily on his feet. ‘Well, maybe the right sort of pictures don’t do any harm,’ he compromised. ‘Of course that Gladys Evinrude――’

‘It isn’t Evinrude; it’s Ermintrude.’

‘It ain’t either,’ chuckled Pud. ‘It’s Tibbie! Anyway, what I was going to say was――was――’ But Pud had lost the thread of his discourse, and before he could pick it up again, Tim spoke.

‘Say, she looked kind of――kind of pretty to-day, Pud.’

‘Pretty?’ Pud considered briefly. ‘Well, I guess maybe she looked better than she did that other time, but she’s awfully skinny!’

‘I don’t think she’s skinny,’ defended Tim warmly. ‘Of course she isn’t what you might call _fat_, like――well, like――’

‘She’s skinny,’ declared Pud flatly. ‘Say, I wish I’d asked her one question, Tim, just one question!’

‘What’s that?’ inquired Tim.

‘Because,’ chuckled Pud, ‘she’d have had to tell the truth, with her father there and everything.’

‘What question?’

‘Why,’ Pud snickered, ‘whether he spanked her or not! I’ll bet you anything he did!’