The Girls of Central High in Camp: or, the Old Professor's Secret

CHAPTER XI

LIZ SEES A “HA’NT”

After their bath the girls got into their gymnasium costumes. Then they clamored for breakfast, and had Mrs. Morse not appeared just then there certainly would have been a riot at the cook-tent. Lizzie was a stickler for orders, and she would not begin to fry cakes until Jess’ mother gave the signal.

Flapjacks! My! weren’t they good, with butter and syrup, followed by bacon and eggs and French fried potatoes? The girls ate for a solid hour. Lizzie’s face was the color of a well-burned brick when the girls admitted they were satisfied. The out-of-door air had given even Lil an enormous appetite.

“If my mother had any idea that I’d eat so much at this time in the morning she’d never have let me come camping,” she said. “Why! do you know – I only drink a cup of coffee and pick the inside out of a roll, at breakfast, at home.”

There was a general inclination to “laze” about the camp and read, or take naps after that heavy breakfast. But Laura would not allow the other six girls of Central High any peace.

“Of course, we have a big ham and a case of eggs with us,” said Mother Wit. “But we don’t want to eat ham and eggs, or bacon and eggs, three times a day while we stay here.

“Beside, the eggs, at least, won’t hold out. We must add to the larder–”

“What shall we do?” asked Dora Lockwood. “Paddle to the mainland and kill some farmer’s cow to get beef?”

“No, indeed,” Laura said, laughing. “We must, however, make an attempt to coax some of the finny denizens of the lake out of it and into Lizzie’s fry-pan.”

“Fishing!” cried Dorothy.

“I never went fishing in my life,” complained Lil.

But the other girls of Central High were not like Lil – no, indeed! They had been out with the boys on Lake Luna – both in summer and winter – and every one of them knew how to put a worm on a hook.

Lil squealed at the thought of “using one of the squirmy things.”

“Aw, you give me a pain!” said Bobby. “Don’t act as though you were made of something different from the rest of us. A worm never bit me yet, and I’ve been fishing thousands of times, I guess.”

Lil did not hear her, however. She was the only girl who had not brought fishing tackle. When she saw her six schoolmates going about the work of tolling the finny denizens of Lake Dunkirk onto the bank, she began to be jealous of the fun they were having. White perch, and roach, and now and then a lake trout, were being landed.

Lil got excited. She wanted to try her hand at the sport, too. Yes! Bobby had an extra outfit, and she even cut Lil a pole.

“But I tell you what it is, Miss,” said the black-eyed girl, “I’m going to hold you responsible for this outfit. If you break anything, or lose anything, or snarl the line up, you’ll have to pay me for it. I paid good money for that silk line and those hooks.”

Lil promised to make good if anything happened to the fishing tackle. She took her place on a rock near Bobby and made a cast. The other girls were very busy themselves and paid Lil very little attention.

The fish were biting freely, for the morning was cloudy and these waters about Acorn Island were far from being “fished out.” Bobby hauled in a couple of perch and had almost forgotten about Lil, when the latter said, mournfully:

“Say, Clara.”

“Well! what is it?” demanded the other.

“What do you call that little thing that bobbed up and down on the water?”

“The float,” replied the busy Bobby.

“Well, Clara!” whined Lil, mournfully.

“Well! what is it?” snapped the busy fisherman.

“I’ll have to buy you a new one.”

“Buy me

what

?” demanded the surprised Bobby.

“A new float.”

“What for?” was the amazed demand.

“Because that one you lent me

has sunk

,” mourned Lily.

“For goodness’ sake!” shrieked Bobby. “You’ve got a bite!”

She dropped her own pole, ran to the amazed Lily, and dragged in a big bullpout – sometimes called “catfish” – that was sulking in the mud at the bottom, with Lil’s hook firmly fastened in its jaws.

Lil shrieked. She would not touch the wriggling, black fish. She was afraid of being “horned,” she said!

Bobby put her foot on the fish and managed to extract the hook. Then she baited the hook again and bade Lil try her luck once more.

But the amateur fisherman was doomed to ill-luck on this occasion. She had scarcely dropped the bait into the water, when a fierce little head appeared right at the surface. It swallowed the bait – hook and all – at a gulp, and swam right toward the shore where Lil stood.

She began to squeal again: “A snake! a snake! Oh, Bobby, I’m deathly afraid of snakes.”

“So am I,” rejoined Bobby. “But you won’t catch a snake in the water with a hook and line.”

“

I’ve caught one!

” gasped the frightened Lil.

“Gee!” growled Bobby. “You’re more trouble than a box of bald-headed monkeys. What is the matter – Oo! it’s a snapper!”

“A what?” cried Lil, dropping the fishpole.

“A snapping turtle,” explained Bobby. “Now you

have

 caught it! I’ll lose hook and all, like enough.”

She jerked the turtle ashore. Lil had seen only its reptilian head. The beast proved to be more than a foot across.

“Makes bully soup,” said the practical Bobby. “But he won’t willingly let go of that bait and the hook in a month of Sundays.”

She ran up to the camp and came flying back in a minute with the camp-hatchet. Lil grew bold enough to hold the line taut. The turtle pulled back, and Bobby caught it just right and cut its head off!

Although Lonesome Liz had never seen a turtle before, she managed to clean it and with Mrs. Morse’s advice made a pot of soup. Lizzie was getting bolder as the hours passed; but she announced to Laura that she believed there must be “ha’nts” in the woods.

“What is a haunt?” asked Laura, curiously.

“Dead folks that ain’t contented in their minds,” declared the queer girl.

“And why should the spirits of the dead haunt

these

 woods?” asked Laura. “Seems to me it’s an awfully out of the way place for dead people to come to.”

But Lizzie would not give up her belief in the “spooks.”

That first day in camp the girls had no visitors. Through their binoculars and opera glasses, they could see the boys very active about their camp across the lake. It was plain they were too busy to visit Acorn Island.

The girls of Central High, however, had plenty of fun without the boys. Only Bobby declared that Lil principally spent the time staring through her opera glasses across the lake, wishing Purt would come over in the

Duchess;

 but Lil angrily denied

that.

“And you stop trying to stir up a rumpus, Miss,” commanded Laura, to the cut-up. “Let us live, if we can, like a Happy Family.”

“My!” drawled Jess, “Mother Wit is nothing if not optimistic.”

“Ha! what is your idea of an optimist?” demanded Nellie Agnew.

“Why,” Jess said, smiling quietly, “I read of a real optimist once. He was strolling along a country road and an automobile came along and hit him in the back. It knocked him twenty feet.

“‘Oh, well!’ said he, as he got up, ‘I was going in this direction, anyway.’”

“Aw, say!” put in Bobby, “that’s all right for a

story;

 but

my

 idea of a real optimist is a man who’s dead broke, going into a restaurant and ordering oysters on the half shell with the hope that he can pay for the dinner by finding a pearl in one of the bivalves.”

They all laughed at that, and then Laura said:

“To get back to our original conversation, let us see if we can’t get on in

this

 camp without friction. And that means that

you

, Bobby, must set a watch on your tongue.”

“What do you suppose my tongue is – a timekeeper?” cried the irreverent Bobby.

Laura herself helped get dinner, the main dish of which was fried fish. And how good they tasted, fresh out of the lake!

Mrs. Morse had kept her typewriter tapping at a swift pace in the cabin, and she could scarcely be coaxed to leave her story long enough to eat dinner.

“This quietude is an incentive to good work,” she said, reflectively, at table. “I shall be sorry to go back to town.”

But it was very early in their experience to say

that.

 Lizzie Bean was not yet an enthusiast for the simple life, that was sure. She and Mother Wit had gotten better acquainted during the preparations for the noonday meal.

“I ain’t never been crazy about the country myself,” admitted Liz. “Cows, and bugs, and muskeeters, and frogs, don’t seem so int’restin’ to me as steam cars, and pitcher shows, and sody-water fountains, and street pianners.

“I like the crowds, I do. A place where all ye hear all day is a mowin’ merchine clackin’, or see a hoss switchin’ his tail to keep off the bluebottles, didn’t never coax me,

much.

”

“The bucolic life does not tempt you, then?” said Laura, her eyes twinkling.

“Never heard it called that afore. Colic’s it serious thing – ’specially with babies. But the city suits me, I can tell ye,” said Liz.

“I never seen no-one that liked the woods like you gals seem to before, ’ceptin’ a feller that lived in the boardin’ house I worked at in Albany. He was a bug on campin’ and fishin’ and gunnin’, and all that.”

“Did you work in Albany?” queried Laura, surprised.

“Yep. Last year. I had a right good place, too. Plenty of work. I got up at four o’clock in the mornin’ and I never

did

 get through at night!”

“Oh, my!”

“Yep. I love work. It keeps yer mind off yer troubles, if you have enough and plenty to do. But if yer have too much of it, yer get fed up, as ye might say. I didn’t get time to sleep.”

Laura had to laugh at that.

“Yep. That chap I tell you about was the nicest chap I ever see. He was kind to me, too. When I cut my thumb most off – see the scar? – a-slicin’ bread in that boardin’ house, the missis put me out ’cause I couldn’t do my work.”

“How mean!” exclaimed Laura.

“Ah! ye don’t know about boardin’ house missises. They ain’t human,” said Liz, confidently. “But Mr. Norman, he seen me goin’ out with my verlise, and he knowed about my sore thumb. He slipped me five dollars out o’ his pocket. But he was rich,” sighed Liz, ecstatically. “He owned a bank.”

“Owned a bank?” gasped Laura.

“Yep.”

“And lived in a cheap boarding house?” for Laura knew that Liz could not have worked in a very aristocratic place.

“Well! he went to a bank every day,” said the simple girl. “And if he warn’t rich why should he have slipped me the five dollars?”

“True – very true,” admitted Laura, much amused.

But she did not think it so funny that evening when, as the girls sat about a fire they had made in the open, singing and telling jokes, and Lizzie was washing up the supper dishes, a sudden shrill whoop arose from the cook-tent.

“Gee! what’s that?” demanded the slangy Bobby.

“A mouse!” declared Nellie. “That funny girl must be just as much afraid of them as

I

 am.”

“I hope it’s nothing worse than a mouse,” Lil said, tremblingly.

Laura had sprung up on the instant and run to the cook tent. Liz had dropped a pile of plates, and some of them were broken. She had deposited herself stiffly in a campstool. Her body was quite stiffened and her eyes fairly bulged – and it was not easy for Liz Bean’s eyes

to

 bulge!

“What is the matter, Liz?” demanded Laura, seizing her by the shoulder.

“I seen him,” gasped Liz.

“You have seen whom?”

“

Him

.”

“But that doesn’t mean anything to me,” declared Laura, shaking her. “Who

is

 he?”

“The feller I was tellin’ you about. That feller that give me the five dollars.”

“

What

?”

“Yes, Ma’am!” uttered Liz, solemnly. “He was standin’ right yonder – just at the edge of them woods. I took the cover off the stove and the fire flashed out and showed me his face – just as plain!”

“You’ve been dreaming,” said Laura, slowly.

“Git out!” ejaculated Liz, with emphasis. “I never fell asleep yet washin’ greasy dishes – no, Ma’am!”

“Well!”

“I know what it means,” Liz said, solemnly. “Yes, I do.”

“What

does

 it mean?” demanded Laura, doubtful whether to laugh or be serious.

“He’s dead,” said the odd girl.

“Dead?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“But why should he appear to you, even if he

were

 dead?” demanded Laura, seeing that she must never let this superstition take root in the camp. “Do you suppose he’s come to try to get his five dollars back?”

“My goodness to gracious!” said Liz. “No. The ha’nt of a man that owned a bank wouldn’t come to bother a poor gal like me for money, would he?”

CHAPTER XII

THE “KLEPTOMANIANTIC” GHOST

The other girls crowded around then and wanted to know what had happened. Laura pinched Liz and said:

“She dropped those plates. Guess we won’t make her pay for the broken ones, girls. Go on, now. I’ll finish helping Liz wipe them.”

So the matter of the “ha’nt” did not become public property just then. In fact, Mother Wit talked so seriously to the maid-of-all-work that she hoped the “ha’nt” had been laid, before they sought their cots that night.

But in the morning there was a most surprising sequel to the incident. The larder had been robbed!

“It can’t be,” said Laura, who heard of the trouble first of all when she popped out of the sleeping tent. Lizzie Bean had awakened Mrs. Morse and that lady – bundled in a blanket-robe – had come to the cook-tent to see.

“I ain’t never walked in my sleep yet – and knowed it,” stated Lizzie, with conviction. “And there’s the things missin’–”

The remainder of the big ham, a strip of bacon, coffee, sugar, syrup, canned milk, and half a sack of flour were among the things which had disappeared.

While the three stood there, amazed, Bobby came. “Bet it was those boys,” said she. “Playing a joke on us. They’re over here somewhere.”

The sun was just rising, and its early beams shone on the camp across the lake. Laura ran for the binoculars and examined the boys’ camp. Both powerboats were there, and the five canoes. The boys were all disporting themselves in the water – Laura could count the six.

“If they did it,” she said, “they got back to their camp very early.”

“See this!” shrieked Bobby, suddenly.

She was pointing to the table, set as usual for breakfast. Pinned to the red and white checked table-cloth was a crisp ten dollar bill.

“Whoever robbed us paid for the goods,” Mrs. Morse said, feebly.

“It was that ha’nt!” declared Liz.

At that the story of the man’s face she had seen at the edge of the wood the evening before, came out. All the girls heard the story, and at once there was a great hullabaloo!

“A man on the island!” gasped Nellie. “I’m going home.”

“Pooh!” said Bobby. “Liz says it’s a ghost. A kleptomaniac ghost at that.”

“He can’t be a kleptomaniac, Bobby,” said Laura, laughing, “or he wouldn’t have left money for the goods.”

“He’s a kleptomani-

antic

 ghost, then!” giggled Bobby.

“How ridiculous!” said Jess. “Whoever heard the like?”

“The fact remains,” said her mother, “that some stranger has been here while we slept, and taken the provisions – and we shall have to get more.”

“The ten dollars will more than pay for what’s missing,” said Laura, slowly.

“What of that?” demanded Nellie. “I don’t like the idea.”

Lizzie was somewhat flurried. “And me – I was sleepin’ right behind that canvas curtain. Not again! never! I’m goin’ back to town.”

At this the girls all set up a wail. “Oh, Liz! you mustn’t! You promised to stay! We’re paying you good wages, Liz! Don’t leave us to do all the work!” was the chorus of objections.

“Well! I ain’t goin’ to stay right here where that ha’nt can get me,” declared Liz.

“But,” put forth Laura, seriously, though her eyes twinkled, “you shouldn’t be afraid of

that

 haunt if he was such a nice young man as you say he was.”

“Huh!” grumbled Lizzie Bean, practically. “No young man is nice after he’s dead.”

There seemed to be no answer to this statement. But Mrs. Morse came to the rescue.

“You can bring your cot into the cabin, Lizzie,” she said. “You will not be afraid if you sleep there with me, will you?”

“No, Ma’am. I reckon not,” admitted the girl.

“But how about

us

?” cried Lil Pendleton. “Surely, we won’t stay here if there are men on the island?”

“It’s big enough for them and us, too, I guess,” said Bobby, doubtfully.

“Maybe the man – or men – who stole our food, is no longer on the island,” Laura said, slowly.

“And they paid for it!” exclaimed Dora.

“Money isn’t everything,” said Nellie.

“What

is

?” demanded Bobby.

“Our peace of mind,” declared the doctor’s daughter, “is more important. I shall be afraid to stay here if there are strange men on the island.”

“We’ll settle that,” Laura declared, with vigor, “and at once.”

“How?” demanded Dorothy, wonderingly.

“Search the island,” said practical Mother Wit. “Certainly not by sitting down and sucking our thumbs.”

“Oh, Laura!” wailed Lil. “I wouldn’t dare!”

“Wouldn’t dare what?” was Laura’s rejoinder.

“Hunt for those men on this island. Why! we don’t

want

 to find them.”

“And I’d like to know why not? I don’t care if they

did

 leave money for the food they took–”

“But there must be something bad about them–”

“How do we know that, Lil?” asked Laura. “There is, rather, something

good

 about them, or they would not have left the money for the stolen food.”

“Dear Laura is right – as she almost always is,” said Mrs. Morse, fondly. “A real thief at heart would not have left that ten dollar bill.”

“An’ I’m tellin’ you that chap was the nicest one that lived at Missis Brayton’s boardin’ house,” put in Liz, reflectively.

“What chap?” cried Jess.

“The ha’nt,” said Liz, simply.

“Oh, dear me, Lizzie!” said Laura, in some disgust. “Don’t keep that up.”

“Well, then! If it wasn’t his ha’nt, it was

himself

. Guess I know him,” declared the girl-of-all-work.

“Tell

me

 about it, please?” said Jess’ mother, “You girls run and get your baths and we’ll get breakfast.”

“I – I don’t want to leave the tent if there are thieves about,” complained Lil, to whom the water looked just as cold on this morning as it had the day before. “I – I’ve got some jewelry in my bag.”

“Very foolish,” said Bobby, bluntly. “We told you not to bring anything to camp that you cared about.”

“Gently! gently!” said Laura, the peacemaker, “Come on, Lil. Don’t be afraid of either the kleptomaniantic thief, as Bobby calls him, or the cold water – neither will hurt you, I guess.”

They had their plunge and that – or something else – stirred Mother Wit’s “thinking machine.” She said, as they trooped up to dress:

“We’ll wig-wag the boys and bring them over. They will help us search the island. Besides, we shall need one of the powerboats to go for more food. It seems funny that a man who was willing to pay for what he took – and pay so well – did not go down to Elberon Crossing and buy at the store just what he took from us.”

“He’s an outlaw – a murderer, maybe, fleeing for his life,” suggested Lil, tremblingly.

“Pooh! so are you!” scoffed Jess. “More than likely he is some lazy fisherman who did not want to go to the store – some rich fellow from the city.”

“If Liz knows what she is talking about,” said Laura, “it

is

 a rich fellow from Albany. A Mr. Norman. And she told me last night that he was a great fisherman and hunter.

“But what under the sun,” demanded Bobby, “should he take our food for?”

“You can’t tell me it is anything as simple as that,” Lil Pendleton declared. “He is a thief, just the same. And it as dangerous for us to be on this island with him. Why! I wouldn’t stay another night – unless the boys were here to defend us.”

“Ah! the cat is out of the bag,” chuckled Bobby. “Lil wants Purt over here with his revolver,” and then the other girls laughed and Lil got mad again.

CHAPTER XIII

THE SEARCH OF THE ISLAND

Laura dressed in a hurry and ran out with the flags. She took a slip of paper with her on which Chet had marked down the code, to refresh her memory, and at once stood out upon a high boulder and began to wave the “call flag.”

Without the glasses she could not see what the boys were doing about their camp; but Jess came with the best pair of binoculars, and soon told her that the boys were evidently in much excitement. Chet appeared with

his

 flags, and brother and sister carried on a silent conversation for some ten minutes.

“No, girls,” Laura said, seriously, when she came down from the rock and led the way to the breakfast table. “Chet assures me none of the boys have been over here. They were coming right after breakfast, anyway, and will come in the powerboats.”

“They know nothing about our loss, and Chet is impressed with the seriousness of the affair. I wouldn’t let him think we were scared at all, but asked to borrow a boat so as to get more provisions.”

“No! I should say not!” exclaimed Jess. “After what they said about our calling them, when they left us the other night, we don’t want to give then a chance to laugh at us.”

“Who’ll go for the provisions to this Crossing you speak of?” asked Nellie.

“Oh, a couple of the boys. The others will help us search the island,” Laura said, cheerfully.

“Make out a list of what is needed, Laura,” advised Mrs. Morse, as she retired to her typewriter. “And be sure to get a bottle of peroxide. It’s good for cuts, or mosquito bites, or any poison.”

Not long after breakfast the two powerboats, the

Duchess

 and the

Bonnie Lass

, were seen approaching. All the boys had come, and they were all very curious as to the raid that had been made upon the girls’ pantry.

Purt Sweet had seemingly been transformed in the two days he had been “roughing it” in camp. He still wore the green knickerbockers, and the long stockings. The belt with its hunting-knife scabbard, was about his waist. And there was a suspicious bunch under his waistband that announced the presence of the ancient revolver.

However, Purt’s mother would not have known his clothing, so stained, torn and bedraggled did his garments appear. The boys had made him do his share of the camp work. Chopping wood had made his palms blister, sparks had snapped out of the fires he had made and burned holes in his clothes, and hot fat snapping from the skillet had left red marks on his hands and face.

Having fun in camp was the hardest work Purt Sweet had ever done; but he was ashamed to “kick” about it before the girls. He came ashore to assure Lil Pendleton that he would do his best to find and punish the marauders who had raided the camp on the island.

“Whether the fellow paid for what he got, or not,” Chet said, seriously, when he had heard the particulars, “we want to know if he is still here, and what he means by such actions.”

“We must know that he

isn’t

 here, or I sha’n’t want to stay,” declared Nellie Agnew, who was really very timid.

“Leave it to us,” said Billy Long, grandly. “We’ll comb this island with a fine tooth comb–”

“You don’t suppose we girls are going to let you fellows do it all, do you?” demanded Laura. “Of course we shall help, Short and Long.”

“Aw! you’ll tear your frocks and scratch yourself on the vines, and stub your toes and fall down, and make a mess generally,” declared Short and Long, loftily. “Better stay here in camp and do your squealing.”

“Well! I like that!” quoth Jess, making a dive for the short boy. She was considerably bigger than he, and catching him from the rear she wound her long arms about him and so held him tight.

“Take that back, Short and Long,” she commanded, “or I shall hold you prisoner.”

Short and Long found he could not get away from Jess, and finally stopped struggling. “I didn’t know you thought so much of me, Jess,” he said, grinning. “But it embarrasses me dreadfully, to have you hug me in public.”

“Why!” laughed the big girl, “I’d think no more of hugging you, than I would your brother, Tommy – and

he’s

 a dear!”

“You’d think so if you had that kid around all the time,” grunted Short and Long, as Jess finally allowed him to wriggle loose. “I think he’s more of a terror than he is a dear.”

“He takes it from you, then,” laughed Bobby.

“Yep,” said Lance, grinning, “it runs in Billy’s family to be a cut-up – like wooden legs!”

“What’s Tommy been doing now?” asked Dorothy Lockwood.

“Why, he is great chums with the kid next door, and they got into mischief of some kind the other day. The other kid’s mother told them that if they did such things ‘the bad man would get them.’ ‘Who’s the bad man, Tommy?’ our Sue asked him, and Tommy says:

“‘Don’t know. You’ll hafter ask Charlie’s mother. She’s well acquainted with him.’”

“Come on, now!” exclaimed Lance. “Who’s going to take the

Duchess

 and go to Elberon Crossing for this bill of goods? We can’t all go hunting for robbers.”

“I shall stay here to help defend the girls, doncher know,” stated Purt, swaggering about the camp. “But any of you fellows can take my boat.”

“Spoken like a nobleman, Purt!” declared Chet, laughing. “Come on, now! Let’s arrange how we shall sweep the island, from shore to shore.”

But first it was agreed that Lance and Reddy should go with the

Duchess

 for the new supply of food for the girls. They set off at once.

The island was a quarter of a mile across at its widest point. Even if the whole party entered on the search they would have difficulty in making so strong a human barrier across the isle that a fugitive in the covert could not escape through the line.

But Chet occasionally had a bright idea as well as his sister. He sent Short and Long – who could climb like a squ