Fred’s parents were regular church attendants, and Fred himself rarely failed to appear with them at morning service on the Sabbath day. It must be regretfully confessed that church had little attraction for many of the youths of Oakdale, and among those who seldom sat through a sermon was Roy Hooker.

Roy, however, was waiting on the sidewalk in front of the church when Fred came out. It was a mild, sunny day, and the outside world looked most attractive. In response to a covert signal from Hooker, Sage joined him.

“Come for a walk, old man,” invited Roy. “Gee! you must be dopey, sitting in that dark old church and listening to a dry sermon.”

“I did get a bit sleepy,” Fred confessed. “You’re not going to walk far, are you?”

“Oh, you can suit yourself about that. What time do you have dinner?”

“Around two o’clock.”

“That will give us a couple of hours. It’s mighty pokey loafing around all day Sunday, with nothing for amusement. If you’d only go gunning – ”

“Not on the Sabbath. Too many fellows do that around here.”

Fred’s parents had lingered to exchange a few words with some friends, and as they finally came down the walk he told them he was going for a short stroll with Roy.

“Be home to dinner, surely,” urged his mother.

He promised, and set off with Hooker, turning down the street. At the square, in the center of the village, they turned on to Lake Street and proceeded eastward, passing the new bank, a small, square building of brick and stone.

“That makes a great improvement on this street,” commented Fred.

“Oh, yes,” nodded Hooker; “but it would have looked better had they been able to purchase that little old hut and the land belonging to Aaron Quinn. That shanty, squatting right there almost under the rear eaves of the bank, is a regular eyesore, but I understand old Quinn refused to sell at any price.”

The building in question was a tiny old house that stood some distance from the street, partly hidden by two large oak trees and a straggling growth of lilac bushes. It was sorely in need of repairs and paint, and some of the broken windows had been patched or stuffed with rags.

Aaron Quinn, the owner of this disreputable little shanty, was a surly, blustering old sea captain, who had given up his calling on account of age and rheumatism and returned to spend the latter days of his life at his birthplace in Oakdale. His irascible temper and general crabbedness made him more or less unpopular among the villagers, and especially so with the boys of the town, who seldom lost an opportunity to jibe or annoy him.

As the two friends were passing beneath the spreading limbs of one of the oaks, something struck Roy on the shoulder and bounded to the sidewalk. It was an acorn, and Hooker might have thought that it had fallen in a natural manner from the tree had it not been followed almost immediately by another, which clipped the edge of his cap-visor.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, looking up. “Who’s throwing them? Oh, I see; it’s that confounded monkey.”

Grinning down at the boys from one of the branches, a large monkey let fly another acorn with surprising accuracy. The creature belonged to the old sea captain, being, apparently, Quinn’s only congenial companion; and, like his master, the monkey had learned to detest the village lads.

“Ah! ha! Mr. Jocko,” cried Hooker, as he quickly stepped off the sidewalk and found a stone. “Two can play at that game.”

“Don’t,” said Fred.

But before he could interfere Roy had sent the stone whistling and clipping through the branches of the tree, causing Jocko to utter a chattering scream of mingled dismay and defiance as he quickly mounted higher.

In a moment there came a roar from the hut beyond the lilac bushes, and forth from the door, which had been standing ajar, issued Aaron Quinn with his stout cane. At one time, although rather short of stature, he had been a sturdy, husky man, who commanded the respect, if not the liking, of his sailors. Now the bushy fringe of whiskers beneath his chin seemed to bristle, his lips were drawn back from his teeth, and his eyes glared with rage.

“You young lubber!” he shouted, as he came hobbling down the path, flourishing the cane. “I’ll teach ye! I’ll larn ye to stone my monkey! If I ketch ye, I’ll break your back!”

With a mocking shout of laughter and a taunt, Hooker took to his heels.

“Run, Fred!” he cried. “The old gink will swat you if you don’t!”

But Sage did not run. Instead, he remained calmly facing the wrathy old sailor, who seemed bent on using the stout cane over the boy’s head.

“Why don’t you skedaddle?” snarled Captain Quinn. “Ain’t you got sense enough to run?”

“I didn’t do anything, and I sha’n’t run,” was the quiet retort. “I don’t believe you’ll hit me.”

The man paused with the cane uplifted, surprise written on his face.

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” he said in a milder tone. “You’re about the only brat around here who hasn’t tried his tricks on me. You seem to be different from the rest of these unmanly cubs. No, I won’t crack ye, but if ever I get my hands on that other rascal, he’ll have to take to his bed.”

“Aw, you couldn’t catch a snail,” taunted Hooker. “Somebody will shoot that monkey of yours some day.”

“If anybody hurts him, they’ll sartain wish they hadn’t,” retorted Quinn. “He knows more than half the people in this town, and that ain’t giving him a great deal of credit. Here, Jocko – here, come down.”

Chattering a little, the monkey slowly swung himself down to the lower limbs and dropped to his master’s shoulder, where he perched in evident assurance of security, making faces at the boys.

Fred laughed and rejoined Hooker, while, assisted by his cane, Aaron Quinn hobbled back toward the hut, carrying the monkey.

“It would be a good thing if that old pirate would get out of town,” said Roy. “He’s no benefit to the place.”

“He’s harmless enough if people will let him alone,” retorted Fred; “but he’s been pestered so much that he seems to have it in for everybody. At the most, it’s doubtful if he lives many years, and when he dies the bank people will doubtless get his little place for what it’s really worth.”

They proceeded on their way, the conversation soon drifting into other channels, football for a time being the main topic, as, to Sage’s surprise, Hooker betrayed considerable interest in the game.

“You’re right about old Stoney,” he said. “He knows the new rules. Why, he must have studied them until he has every word by heart. Perhaps he’ll make a fairly good captain, after all, though he never can come up to Roger Eliot.”

“Perhaps not,” admitted Sage. “Eliot certainly was a natural leader at anything he undertook. I’m glad you came out yesterday.”

“Oh, it isn’t likely I’ll get a chance to play.”

“I’ll guarantee you will if you pitch in. Why, there’s Piper, the last fellow one would ever suppose could make good at the game.”

“That’s right,” agreed Roy. “Say, he came round and interviewed me last night. He’s got another bug in his bonnet. Asked me all sorts of questions about the strange man I saw in the woods. What do you suppose he thinks he’s up to?”

“He’s struck a trail,” laughed Fred. “He was up at my house to see me, too.”

“Well, it would give me some satisfaction if he could find out who the man was. Don’t suppose you were able to enlighten him any?”

“Not a bit. I told you yesterday that I hadn’t the remotest idea who the stranger could be.”

“I know you did, but I thought you might have placed him since.”

Down the river on the road to Clearport they entered a grove and sat chatting for some time on a fallen tree. Roy was anxious for another gunning expedition, but Fred feared that school work and football practice would give him little time for it. Finally they returned to the village, and Roy walked up Main Street to accompany his friend part of the way toward home.

On the sidewalk in front of Urian Eliot’s house they saw Mr. Eliot talking with Lucius Timmick, the cashier of the bank. Timmick was a man under thirty years of age, thin, smooth-faced, save for some high cut “siders,” and a trifle sanctimonious in his manner. He was dressed wholly in black and carried a Bible in his hand.

Mr. Eliot spoke pleasantly to the boys as they passed, and Timmick gave them a grudging nod.

“That dried-up shrimp makes me tired,” muttered Hooker. “Just because Urian Eliot took him into the bank and made him cashier, he thinks he’s something. I know him; he always was a sneak. Why, he used to watch the boys nights and blow on them every time they had a little fun. He caught us hooking apples once, and made an awful fuss about it. Talked of having some of us sent to the reform school. Now he teaches a class in Sabbath School, and butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.”

“It is evident,” smiled Fred, “that you don’t love Mr. Timmick much.”

“You wouldn’t think much of him either, if you’d lived long in Oakdale. He has too much dignity now to sneak round nights trying to find out what the fellows are doing, but he’s just as much a fox as he ever was. If I was president of a bank, I’d never trust him to handle the cash.”

“Evidently Mr. Eliot trusts him thoroughly.”

“Oh, yes, he’s got Urian Eliot fooled. Well, guess I’ll hike for home, as Rod Grant would say. Bye, bye, old man.”

Thus far Fred had found no good opportunity to tell his father privately about the mysterious stranger and about what he had seen from his window the night before, nor did he find such a chance that day. The following morning he dismissed the matter from his mind, fancying it improbable that the man would again be seen around Oakdale.

CHAPTER VII.
ANNOYING ATTENTIONS

Sleuth Piper seemed to develop a sudden remarkable fondness for Fred Sage, upon whom he persisted in thrusting himself whenever possible, although he endeavored to make his actions seem natural and unpremeditated. At the academy he hung around a great deal in Fred’s vicinity, usually near enough to hear and understand anything Sage might say. Time after time he engaged Fred in conversation, which he usually brought about by speaking of school matters or sports in which the most of the boys were interested.

Monday morning, as he was making his way to the academy, Fred had been a bit surprised to encounter Sleuth in the vicinity of the Methodist church, for Piper, if also bound for school, had come a considerable distance out of his way. This action seemed to be explained, however, when the queer fellow betrayed a certain amount of anxiety lest Sage had broken his promise to maintain secrecy regarding the Saturday night interview at Fred’s house.

“What do you take me for, Piper?” exclaimed Fred, annoyed. “When I get ready to tell about that, I’ll let you know in advance.”

“No offence, old fellow,” said Sleuth hastily. “You understand anyone can let such things leak unintentionally.”

That night, after the shower in the gym following practice on the field, Sleuth was waiting to join Fred and persisted in walking all the way home with him, maintaining a confidential atmosphere, which seemed to invite confidence and trust on the part of the other. This effort was so palpably apparent that, although inwardly annoyed, Sage could not help laughing over it when Sleuth finally set off for his own home.

“The chump!” he muttered. “He thinks he’s clever, but it’s easy enough to see through him.”

But when, on the following morning, Sleuth again joined Fred on the way to school, Sage could scarcely restrain his annoyance. Succeeding, however, he tried the effect of joshing and banter.

“Say, Sleuth,” he laughed, “you’ve certainly taken a sudden pronounced liking for my society. I never dreamed you entertained such deep affection for me.”

“Oh,” returned Piper, with pretended carelessness, “I’ve always liked you, Fred, ever since you came here from – from – . Let me see, where did you come from? I’ve forgotten.”

“Perhaps you never knew.”

“That’s right, perhaps I didn’t. Seems to me, though, I’ve heard it was somewhere in New York State. Is that right?”

“Let it go at that; it’s near enough.”

“Oh, if there’s any reason why you don’t care to tell, of course you’ve a right to decline to answer.”

“Do you know, Sleuth, I always feel a natural disinclination to gratify the unwarranted curiosity of people who try to pry into affairs that are of no concern to them.”

“Oh, piffle, Fred! I’m not prying. What’s the matter with you? I was just thinking that probably before coming here you attended a school of more importance than Oakdale Academy. You knew as much about football as any fellow in this town when you appeared here, and that’s how you happened to get on the team as quarterback last year. Eliot said you were the fellow best adapted for the position, and you proved that he was right by the way you filled it.”

“Thanks for the taffy. Your generosity in handing it out has got me going. What do you want to know next? Ask and ye shall not receive. Rubber and you’ll get it in the neck.”

“Oh, all right, if you’re going to take it that way,” muttered Piper sourly. “Still, I don’t see why you should be so thundering suspicious. That is, I don’t see unless – ”

“Unless I’ve some dark and terrible secret to conceal. You’re still making a jack of yourself trying to connect the Sages with your desperate jailbird, Gentleman Jim. It doesn’t seem to me, my astute detective friend, that you’re making much progress on your latest case. Apparently that reward is keeping well beyond the reach of your grasping fingers.”

“Even Sherlock Holmes required a certain amount of time to solve his problems,” reminded Piper, causing his companion to laugh loudly.

“As an imitator of the great Sherlock, you’re a merry jest, Pipe. Go ahead and amuse yourself playing your little farce, but don’t bother me.”

It was difficult, however, to escape Piper, who again persisted in hovering about in Fred’s vicinity throughout the day.

That night, shortly after four o’clock, Mrs. Sage, at work in her kitchen, was surprised and a little startled when Billy Piper came walking in through the door, which chanced to be standing open, as the day had been unusually warm for the season.

“Good evening,” said the boy. “I just ran up to see Fred a minute. Is he around?”

“No, indeed,” was the answer. “He never gets home now until after dark. Football practice keeps him. Don’t you play on the team?”

“Oh, yes,” answered Pipe easily; “but I don’t have to practice all the time. You see, I’m pretty well up on the game. If you don’t mind, I’ll wait for Fred.”

“Of course I don’t mind, though it’s likely he’ll not be home for more than an hour.”

“Oh, well, I’ll just make myself comfortable till he comes. Thought perhaps he might have a book for me to read. I’m a great reader.”

“There are some magazines on the sitting-room table.”

“Thanks,” said Sleuth, entering the room indicated. “I reckon they will do first-rate. Don’t mind about me, Mrs. Sage. Here’s a nice, comfortable chair, and I’ll be all right.”

Although she wondered that he should have come there expecting to find Fred at that time, Mrs. Sage attributed it to the boy’s eccentricity, though occasionally she glanced into the sitting-room when passing the open door. Sleuth seemed to be interested for a time in the magazines, but presently she discovered him gazing around the room, although he remained seated near the table. A few moments later she saw his face brighten up as his eyes discovered an old-fashioned family photograph album within reach of his hand. In a moment he was looking through the album, apparently deeply engrossed in the pictures it contained, and for some time he remained thus occupied. Mrs. Sage had almost forgotten the visitor when he reappeared in the kitchen.

“I don’t believe I’ll wait for Fred after all,” said Sleuth. “I think I’ll go home. Tell him when he comes that I was looking for a good book, but I don’t believe he has anything of the kind that would suit me.”

It was verging on twilight when Sleuth departed, and something like half an hour later Fred reached home. On being told by his mother of Piper’s visit, the boy betrayed some surprise and a singular amount of annoyance.

“Confound that fellow!” he exclaimed. “I’d like to know what he means. Did he try to pump you, mother?”

“Pump me? Why, no, I don’t think – ”

“Didn’t ask you a whole lot of foolish questions, did he?”

“I don’t think he asked me any questions at all.”

“Well, what did he do while he was here?”

“Entertained himself by looking at some magazines in the sitting-room.”

“He didn’t go prowling around over the house?”

“He went no further than that room.”

“Still, he had no business around here.”

“He said that he came for a book. He wanted something to read.”

“Bluff. He knows the stories I read wouldn’t interest him at all. Furthermore, he knew when he came that I wasn’t here. He got excused from practice to-night by saying that he had a cracking headache and felt ill.”

“He didn’t mention anything of the sort to me, and I’m sure he did not appear ill. I’m afraid there’s something wrong with that boy, Fred. You admitted yourself that some people thought him queer.”

“I’ll queer him, if he doesn’t behave,” muttered Fred.

On Wednesday morning Piper was not waiting for Sage on the way to school, but Fred found him with some other fellows at the academy. Straightway Sleuth was called aside by the vexed youth.

“Look here, Piper,” said Fred grimly, “I want to know why you showed up at my house last night and asked for me, when you knew I was at practice on the field?”

“Why, didn’t your mother tell you I wanted to borrow a book?” asked Sleuth innocently.

“Now don’t try any of that on me,” advised the other boy. “You knew I wouldn’t have anything you’d care to read. Besides that, you pretended that you expected to find me home.”

“Who said so?”

“My mother.”

“Oh, she misunderstood me.”

“But I don’t misunderstand you, and I’ll tell you now to keep away from me and my home in future. I mean it, too. This business of playing the detective may be amusing and interesting to you, but it’s infernally annoying to anyone you happen to pester. I’ve had enough of it, and I won’t stand any more. Get that?”

“Of course I get it,” replied Sleuth sulkily. “I’m no fool.”

“Then don’t act like one. That’s all I have to say.” With which Fred turned sharply and walked away.

“Those who have guilty secrets,” muttered Piper to himself, “are always annoyed by too much attention.”

CHAPTER VIII.
HOOKER HAS A PLAN

On Thursday afternoon the Oakdale football team put in the last strenuous practice before the first real game of the season, which was to be played Saturday on the home grounds, the contesting eleven coming from Barville. As far as possible Captain Stone had drilled a knowledge of the new rules into the heads of his followers, and although, like a good captain, he was not wholly satisfied either with their advancement or his own, he decided that stiff, strenuous practice work on Friday would not be advisable, considering the possibility that someone might get hurt, with insufficient time to recover before the Barville contest. Therefore he simply notified his teammates to come out Friday for a little brushing up in signals.

Encouraged by Sage, Hooker had practiced faithfully, and had made a fairly good showing in the line of the scrub team when it played short periods against the regulars. Fortunately, Roy’s “condition” had been excellent when he began this, and therefore, save for a few minor bruises and sprains, which caused temporary soreness or lameness, he escaped injury. He was feeling somewhat elated over this when he left the gymnasium in company with Fred.

“It doesn’t seem to be such a tough old game, after all,” said Roy. “Of course a fellow gets pounded around a lot, but it doesn’t hurt him much if he’s good and hard.”

“That’s the point generally overlooked by people who put up a holler against the game,” said Fred. “Football isn’t for babies and weaklings, and the fellow who goes into it should be in perfect health and hardened by training that will enable him to stand up under pounding and jolts which would put a feeble chap all to the bad in no time at all. Observe how quickly fellows in fine condition recover from injuries on the field which would seem sufficient to put them under the doctor’s care for weeks or months. When some foolish chap who is soft as mush or has some chronic weakness attempts to get into the game, notice how often it happens that he’s the one seriously injured; and of course this gives people who do not understand the circumstances and who are opposed to the game a chance to raise a great to-do.”

“My folks have never wanted me to play.”

“Well, mine are not enthusiastically in favor of my playing, although my mother is the chief objector. But she’s always worrying about me of late, no matter what I do. It has been that way ever since – ” He checked himself suddenly.

“Ever since what?” asked Roy.

“Oh,” answered Fred evasively, “ever since I got old enough to go in for such things. She doesn’t like to have me go gunning, and she actually cried when father bought me my gun.”

“Oh, say,” exclaimed Hooker quickly, “that makes me think of something. Why can’t we get in a little shooting Saturday morning? There ought to be ducks over in Marsh Pond, and we could try ’em Saturday, and arrange to get home by the middle of the forenoon-by half past ten or eleven, at the latest. That would give us plenty of time to rest up before the game.”

“But Marsh Pond is nearly five miles from here, and, in order to get there early enough to pick up any ducks in the morning, we’d have to turn out in the middle of the night and make a stiff tramp of it. I’m afraid that would be a little too much, Hooker.”

“Now listen to me; I have a plan. I’m not in favor of rising at two or three o’clock and hoofing it all that distance for half an hour’s shooting after daybreak. You’re as wise to the signals as any fellow on the team, aren’t you?”

“I think so,” nodded Fred modestly.

“Think so! Why, you’ve got them down pat. You can reel ’em off like hot shot, and you know every time just what you’re firing at. A little signal practice to-morrow wouldn’t do you any good, and, as I’m only a scrub man, it isn’t worth my while bothering. I know where we can get a good set of decoys to use on that duck hunt, and if you’ll go I’ll agree to get ’em. We can start right after school to-morrow, and I’ll bet I can hire Abe Hubbard to take us over to the pond with his old horse and wagon. It won’t cost a great deal, for Hubbard isn’t doing much of anything, and he’d be glad to pick up a dollar. It wouldn’t surprise me if the sight of a whole dollar would hire him to tote us over there and come for us any time we might set on Saturday. If I can fix it,” he concluded eagerly, “will you go?”

They had paused in front of the post-office, and Fred meditated a moment over the proposal. They were standing there as Sleuth Piper came up, passed them and entered the building, turning to cast a swift glance in their direction.

“It listens good, Hooker,” said Fred, tempted; “but where are we going to stay all night? Have you thought of that?”

“You bet I have. Why, don’t you remember there’s an old camp over there, which nobody ever uses nowadays? It has a stone fireplace, and if we take an axe along to cut wood we can be as comfortable as you please.”

It was not remarkable that the temptation grew, for what real boy would not be lured by the prospect of a night in an old camp in the woods?

“It listens good,” repeated Fred, smiling a bit; “but how about a boat? Without a dog to do our retrieving, if we shoot anything we’ll certainly need a boat. Spot is no water dog, and he’d be practically useless for us.”

“There isn’t any boat,” admitted Roy; “but I know where there’s an old raft on the shore within twenty rods of the shooting blind some hunters made last fall. I know the raft ought to be there, for I used it when I was over there fishing once this summer. I saw the blind and inspected it, too, and it will be all right for us without doing a thing to it. It’s close by the feeding grounds at the western end of the lake and will serve us much better than a new one, as the ducks are thoroughly accustomed to the sight of it by this time. You know how they shy sometimes at a newly built blind they’ve never seen before. With that raft near by for our use, we can pick up any ducks we knock down. Come on, Fred, of course you’ll go.”

“I’ll speak to Stone about it in the morning.”

“That would be rather late, for you know I’ve got to see Hubbard and fix it with him. Why not see Stone to-night? Give him a good game of talk. Tell him you feel the need of something like this to brace you up. Hard study, regular practice, monotony, anxiety about the game – you know the sort of argument to put up. He’ll be a chump if he refuses. Why, if I was on the team I’d simply see him and tell him I was going to go anyhow.”

“And you’d put yourself in bad with old Stoney. He’s an easy-going fellow in some things, but when it comes to football matters he believes in discipline and enforces it, too.”

“Yes,” nodded Roy, “he’s a little too stiff to suit me; something of a tyrant, it seems.”

“Not a tyrant; simply a captain who knows what is right and demands it of his followers. If Stone says he doesn’t think I should go, of course I won’t, that’s all.”

“But you will if he’ll agree?” cried Hooker exultantly. “Say, old man, leave it to me; let me talk to Ben. I’ll tell him you want to go, but don’t like to ask the privilege.”

“And that would be the truth.”

“Sure. No need to lie about it. Think perhaps he can put a substitute in your place, same as he would have to do if you were hurt in a game, and that will be a good thing, as it will brace the sub up on signaling. Will you leave it to me, old chap?”

After a little hesitation, Sage agreed. “Go ahead; have your own way about it. If Ben says it’s all right, I’ll go ducking with you.”

“I’ll let you know this very evening,” promised Hooker, as his friend started up the street toward home.

Sage did not see Piper come quickly out of the post-office and hasten after Roy. Having observed the two boys in earnest consultation, Sleuth’s curiosity was at white heat.

Near eight o’clock that evening Hooker came to see Fred at the latter’s home.

“It’s all right,” he announced in enthusiastic triumph. “I brought Stone round nicely, and he says you may go. I’ve seen Hubbard, too, and fixed it up with him. He’ll be ready to start right after school to-morrow, and he’ll come for us at half past nine Saturday morning.”

Fred’s mother was listening with sudden interest. “What are you planning, boys?” she asked.

Fred explained, observing that her face took on a shade of anxiety.

“Now don’t begin to worry, mother,” he begged. “You know Roy and I are both careful with guns, and there isn’t a bit of danger. I don’t want to fret you, but I hope you won’t object.”

She sighed a little. “I suppose it’s foolish, but I can’t help feeling anxious about you when you go gunning. However, your father bought you the gun, and, now that you have it, it wouldn’t seem reasonable for me to seek to prevent you from getting some pleasure through the use of it.”

“All boys love a gun,” smiled Andrew Sage, “and the right sort of a boy rarely gets hurt with one.”

“Then it’s all fixed,” laughed Roy. “Get everything ready to start right away after school, Fred. Take along a blanket, for you’ll need it in the old camp. If we have any luck at all, we ought to bring home some ducks.”

Roy had been gone some time when Fred’s mother came up quietly behind his chair, bent over him and put her arms about his neck.

“Don’t think me foolish, my dear,” she said in a low tone. “You understand why I can’t help worrying. You’re the only boy I have left, now.”