“Let’s go in and get a drink of water,” suggested Tom.
No one else, however, was thirsty, and so Tom passed in through the big gate alone while the others made themselves comfortable on the top of the wall. Tom was gone a long time, but finally, just when Dan was starting off to find him, he came into sight.
“What’s he got?” asked Nelson.
“Looks as though he was eating something,” answered Dan. “By Jupiter, it’s pie!”
“You fellows missed it,” called Tom, smiling broadly. “She gave me a piece of apple pie and it was great.”
“Doesn’t look like apple,” said Bob.
“Oh, this is squash. The first piece was apple,” was the cheerful reply.
“Well, of all pigs!” said Nelson. “How many pieces did you have?”
“Only two,” was the unruffled response. “And a glass of milk.”
Nelson looked his disgust, but Dan, reaching forward, sent the half-consumed wedge of pastry into the dust.
“Hope you ch-ch-choke!” said Tommy warmly, viewing his prize ruefully. “It was gu-gu-gu-good pie, too!”
But he got no sympathy from his laughing companions. Bob declared that it served him jolly well right.
“He’ll wish he hadn’t eaten any before he gets to the end of the day’s journey,” said Dan. “We’ve got six miles and more to Jericho, and I guess we’d better be doing ’em.”
So they took up the march again. Everyone was in high feather. Side excursions into adjoining fields were made, Dan went a hundred yards out of his way to shy a stone at a noisy frog, and Nelson climbed a cedar tree to its topmost branches merely because Bob hazarded the opinion that cedar trees were hard to shin up. Only Tommy seemed to experience none of the intoxication of the highway and the morning air. Tommy appeared a bit sluggish, and kept dropping back, necessitating frequent halts.
“Look here, Tommy,” said Dan presently, “we’re awfully fond of you, but we love honor more; also dinner. If you really want to spend the day around here studying nature, why just say so; we’ll wait for you at Jericho.”
Whereupon Tom gave a grunt and moved faster. But at the end of half an hour the truth was out; Tommy didn’t feel just right.
“Where do you hurt?” asked Bob skeptically.
“I – I have a beast of a pain in my chest,” said Tom, leaning against a fence and laying one hand pathetically halfway down the front of his flannel shirt. The others howled gleefully.
“On his chest!” shrieked Dan.
“Sure it isn’t a headache?” laughed Nelson.
Tom looked aggrieved.
“I gu-gu-gu-guess if you fu-fu-fu-fellows had it you wu-wu-wu-wu-wu – ”
“Look here, Tommy,” said Bob, “you haven’t got a pain; you’ve just swallowed an alarm clock!”
“That’s what you get for eating all that pie and making a hog of yourself,” said Dan sternly.
“It’s Tommy’s tummy,” murmured Nelson.
Whatever it was, it undoubtedly hurt, for Tommy was soon doubled up on the grass groaning dolefully. The others, exchanging comical glances, made themselves comfortable alongside.
“Got anything in your medicine chest that will help him, Dan?” asked Nelson. Dan shook his head. The medicine chest consisted of a two-ounce bottle of camphor liniment and a similar sized flask of witch-hazel.
“How you feeling now, Tommy?” asked Bob gravely.
“Better,” muttered Tom. “I’d ju-ju-ju-just like to know what that woman put in her pu-pu-pu-pie!”
“You don’t suppose it was poison, do you?” asked Dan, with a wink at the others.
Tom’s head came up like a shot and he stared wildly about him.
“I bu-bu-bu-bet it wa-wa-wa-was!” he shrieked. “It fu-fu-feels like it! A-a-a-a-arsenic!”
“That’s mean, Dan,” said Bob. “He’s only fooling, Tommy. You have just got a plain, everyday tummyache. Lie still a bit and you’ll be all right.”
Tom looked from one to the other in deep mistrust.
“If I du-du-du-die,” he wailed, “I – I – ”
He broke off to groan and wriggle uneasily.
“What, Tommy?” asked Dan with a grin.
“I – I hope you all ch-ch-ch-ch-choke!”
Tom’s pain in his “chest” kept them there the better part of two hours, and it was past eleven when the invalid pronounced himself able to continue the journey. There was still some four miles to go in order to reach Jericho, which hamlet they had settled upon as their dinner stop, and they struck out briskly.
“What was that chap’s name?” asked Dan. “The one we were to get dinner from.”
“Hooper,” answered Bob, “William Hooper. I wish I was there now. I’m as hungry as a bear.”
There was a groan from Tom.
“That’s all right, Tommy, but we haven’t feasted on nice apple and squash pie, you see.”
“Shut up!” begged Tom.
“How big’s this Jericho place?” asked Nelson.
Out came Bob’s road map.
“Seems to be about three houses there according to this,” answered Bob.
“Gee! I hope we don’t get by without seeing it,” said Dan. “Do you suppose there’s a sign on it?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve heard there was a tree opposite it,” Bob replied gravely. “And there’s something else here too,” he continued, still studying the map. “It’s a long, black thing; looks as though it might be a skating rink or a ropewalk.”
“Maybe it’s the poorhouse,” suggested Dan, looking over his shoulder.
“Or a hospital for Tommy,” added Nelson.
“Anyhow, I hope there’s something to eat there,” said Bob.
“Me too,” sighed Nelson. “This is the longest old seven miles I ever saw. And it’s after twelve o’clock. Sure we’re on the right road, Bob?”
“Of course. Look at the map.”
“Oh, hang the map! Let’s ask some one.”
“All right. It does seem a good ways. We’ll ask the next person we see.”
But although they had met half a dozen persons up to that time, it seemed now that the district had suddenly become depopulated. Nelson said he guessed they were all at home eating dinner. After another half hour of steady walking, during which time Tom recovered his spirits, they came into sight of a little village set along the road. There was one store there and some five or six houses.
“Anyhow,” said Dan hopefully, “we can get some crackers and cheese in the store.”
But when they had piled through the door they changed their minds. It was a hardware store! A little old man with a bald head and brass-rimmed spectacles limped down behind the counter to meet them.
“Is this Jericho?” asked Bob.
“Jericho? No, this ain’t Jericho,” was the answer.
“Oh! Er – what is it?”
“Bakerville.”
“Where’s Bakerville?”
“Right here.”
“I