Ruth Fielding and the Gypsies Part 15

"Huh! ye look it," declared the woman, without any politeness at all.

And the boy _did_ look rather dilapidated. He had gotten more than a little wet in the first of the shower, and he had pawed around among the "internal arrangements" of the balky auto to such purpose, that he was disheveled and oil-streaked from head to foot.

"I'm in disguise just now, Ma'am," laughed Tom, cheerfully. "But really, I have not come begging either food or lodging. Is your husband at home?"

"Yes, he is. And he'll be here in a minute and chase ye off the place--ef ye don't scat at once," said the woman, sourly. "_He_ wouldn't hold back this dog, now, I tell ye."

"Please believe me, Madam," urged Tom, "that I am better than I appear.

Our car broke down on the road yonder, and I have come to see if I can hire a team of horses to drag it into the Corners."

"Car? What kind of a car? Ain't no railroad here," she said, suspiciously.

The dog had barked himself breathless by now and they could talk a little easier. Tom smiled, as he replied:

"Our motor car--automobile."

"Huh! why didn't ye say so?" she demanded. "Tryin' to fool me. It's bad enough ter drive one o' them abominations over people's roads, but tryin' to make out ye air on a train--though, land o' Goshen! some of ye make 'em go as fast as airy express I ever see. Wal! what about your ortermobile?"

"It's broken down," said Tom, feeling that he had struck the wrong house, after all, if he expected help.

"I'm 'tarnal glad of it!" snapped the farmer's wife. "Nuthin' could please me better. Las' time I went to town one o' them plagued nuisances come hootin' erlong an' made the old mare back us clean inter the ditch--an' I broke a dozen an' a ha'f of aigs right in the lap of my new bombazeen dress. Drat 'em all, I say!"

"I am very sorry, Ma'am, that the accident occurred. But I can a.s.sure you I was not the cause of it," Tom said, quietly, and stifling a great desire to laugh. "I wish only to get your husband to help me with his team--and I will pay him well."

"Huh! what d'ye call well?" she demanded. "A boy like you ain't likely to have much money."

Thus brought to a "show down," Tom promptly pulled out his billcase and opened it in the light that streamed out of the doorway. The woman could see that he carried quite a bundle of notes--and that they were not all single dollar bills!

"Land o' Goshen!" she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "Where'd you steal all that money, ye young ruffian? I thought there was suthin' mighty bad about you when I fust set eyes on ye."

This was a compliment that Tom Cameron had not been looking for! He was certainly taken aback at the woman's words, and before he could make any response, she raised her voice and began to shout for "Sam!"

"Crickey!" thought the boy, "I hope Sam will have a better opinion of me than she does, or I'm likely to get into trouble."

He began to back off the porch, and had his ankle not pained him so, he certainly would have set off on a run. Perhaps it is well he did not try this, however, for the woman cried:

"You move a step off'n thet platform before Sam Blodgett comes an' I'll open the lower ha'f of this door and let the dawg loose on ye!"

Then she bawled for her husband again, and pretty soon a shouted response came from the direction of the barns. Then a lantern flickered and swung, and Tom knew the man was coming toward the house.

He appeared--a short, heavy-set man, barefooted, and with a pail of milk in one hand and the lantern in the other.

"What's the matter, Sairy?" he demanded.

"Who's this?"

"Thet's what _I_ wanter know," snapped the woman. "It 'pears like he's one o' these runaway boys ye read about in the papers--an' he's stole some money."

"I haven't either!" cried Tom, in some exasperation. "I don't have to steal money--or anything else, I hope. I showed her that I had some money, so that she would believe I could pay you for some work I wanted done----"

"What work?" interposed the farmer.

Tom told him about the stalled auto and what he wanted.

"How much'll ye give?" shot in the farmer, right to the point.

"What do you ask to drag the machine to town--to the Corners, I mean?"

"If it's where ye say it is, ten dollars!"

"All right," agreed the boy. "Your wife knows I have the money. I'll pay you when we get to the Corners."

"I know ye got the money," said the woman. "But I don't know _how_ ye got it. And if you've got an ortermobile, too, I bet ye stole _that_!"

"You hesh up, Sairy," advised Mr. Blodgett. "No need of your sp'ilin' a trade. Gimme my supper. I'll hafter eat b'fore I go with ye, young man."

"Oh, all right," sighed Tom, remembering how the girls must be very much frightened by this time.

The man tramped into the house with the milk and the lantern. Neither he nor his wife asked Tom inside--or mentioned supper to him. The woman put it steaming on the table and Tom--like the dog--might stand and look on.

At last the farmer was finished. "Guess the team's eat by now," he remarked, and came out with the lantern hung on his arm. All this time the dog had had "fits and starts" of wanting to get at Tom and eat him up. Now he slipped past his master and ran at the visitor with a savage growl.

The boy had no idea of being made the supper of the brute, no matter how hungry Fido might be. So he kicked out and barely touched him. Instantly the brute set up a terrible "ki-yi-ing!" and shot off the porch and disappeared into the darkness. Evidently the Blodgetts kept the animal for its bark, for it did not have the pluck of a woodchuck!

"Come on," advised Sam, as the woman began to rail again. "She's wound up an' ain't likely to run down again for a week. You sure you wanter pay ten dollars for this job?"

"I'm sure I _will_ pay that for it, whether I want to or not," declared Tom, with confidence.

"Aw right. We'll be movin'. Maybe another shower by'm'by, an' I sha'n't wanter be out in it."

"We'll go just as fast as you want to," said Tom, hobbling along to the stables. "I won't keep you back, Mr. Blodgett."

"You're lame, I see," said the man, not unkindly. "You kin straddle one of the hosses if you like."

Tom was glad enough to do this, and in a few minutes they were going back over the dark track Tom had come, the harness jingling from the horses' hames, and Mr. Blodgett trudging st.u.r.dily along by the animals'

heads.

They came to the top of the ridge from which the stalled car had last been seen by Tom. "There are the lights!" he cried.

He was glad to see them. They shone cheerfully in the dark, and he had no idea that the girls were in any trouble.

But when they got down to the bottom of the hill there was neither sign nor sound of the two girls. Tom shouted at the top of his voice. He searched the car all over for some written word. He saw that the girls had carried off only their own personal belongings and nothing else.

What could it mean? Surely no thieves had come this way, or the car would have been stripped of everything portable, and of value. At least, so it seemed to Master Tom. He was not wise enough to suspect that the goods in the car had been left alone to mislead him. The Gypsies had been after bigger game than a few dollars' worth of auto furnis.h.i.+ngs.

"Come now!" exclaimed Sam Blodgett. "I can't wait here all night. I only agreed to drag the car ter town."

"But where could those girls have gone? My sister and Ruth Fielding?"