Tom Fairfield in Camp: or, The Secret of the Old Mill. Chapman Allen
believe what his chum said. Then our hero asked:
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I am. Take a look for yourself,” and Jack moved over so that Tom could have a glimpse into the other car.
“It’s those chaps, sure enough,” spoke Tom. “This is a great go! Sam Heller and that nuisance Nick Johnson on the same train with us, and the prospect of meeting Professor Skeel when we get to camp. I don’t like this!”
“Neither do I,” agreed Bert. “But we can’t help it.”
“Do you think those two fellows are going to meet that mean professor you spoke of?” asked Dick.
“I hardly imagine so,” answered Jack. “Mr. Skeel wasn’t any too friendly with even Sam Heller, though Sam was more in his class than the rest of us. No, I guess it’s just a coincidence, that Sam and his crony are on this train. But I’d like to know where they got on, and where they’re going.”
“They must have boarded the train before we did,” explained Bert, “for I’ve been looking out of the window at every station we came to since Briartown, and I didn’t see them hop on.”
“That’s right,” agreed Jack. “Come to think of it now, Sam lives in Newtonville, and that’s not far below your town, Tom. Nick was probably visiting Sam, and the two are off on a trip together.”
“Yes, but where are they going?” persisted Tom. “I hope, if they’re going camping, that they don’t pick out any spot near us. There’ll be sure to be trouble if they do. I won’t stand for any more nonsense from either Sam or Nick.”
“And I don’t blame you,” declared Bert.
“There’s one way to find out where they’re going,” suggested Dick Jones.
“How?” asked Tom.
“Ask ’em.”
“That’s right!” laughed Tom. “Only I don’t like to do it. There’d be sure to be a quarrel if I did, for Sam and I never got along well together.”
“I’ll ask ’em,” offered Jack. “While I’m not any too friendly with them I think I can get into a conversation with ’em, and learn what’s up. Shall I?”
“Go ahead,” spoke Tom; and Jack sauntered into the next coach. Sam and Nick were surprised to see him, of course, and they probably suspected that Tom was somewhere about, but they did not admit it, or show much curiosity regarding Jack’s presence, so unexpectedly manifested.
“Going far?” asked Jack.
“Oh, not so very,” replied Sam, coolly. “And yet we may make quite a trip of it before we finish; eh, Nick?”
“Sure. Where are you bound for, Jack?”
“Oh, we’re just going camping – Tom Fairfield, Bert Wilson and a friend of Tom’s.”
“No camp life for ours!” exclaimed Sam. “It’s too much work. We stop at hotels.”
“Yes, and you miss half the fun,” rejoined Jack.
There was some more conversation, and then Jack went back to join his chums.
“Did you learn anything?” asked Tom.
“Not much. They were as close-mouthed as clams. I did my best to pump them without showing too much curiosity as to where they were going, but there was ‘nothing doing,’ as our friend Shakespeare might say. I guess they thought I wanted to know, and so they took special pains to keep mum. But we won’t let it make any difference to us.”
“That’s right,” agreed Tom. “Maybe there won’t be any trouble after all.”
The boys traveled all that day, the journey being a pleasant one for the four chums, who had much to talk about. They took an observation now and then of the forward car, and saw that Sam and his crony were still aboard.
“Well, we’ll soon be at Wilden,” remarked Tom, as the day was drawing to a close.
“Where are we going to stop?” asked Jack.
“At a hotel, of course,” put in Bert.
“Hotel nothing!” exclaimed Tom. “In the first place there isn’t any, and in the second place mother’s friend, Mrs. Henderson, would feel hurt if we didn’t put up at her house. She wrote specially to invite us when she heard we were going camping near Lake Woonset. So we’ll go there, and proceed to make ourselves at home.”
The train pulled into a station a few miles below Wilden, and to the surprise of Tom and his chums, Sam Heller and his crony got off. Our friends watched them.
“What do you know about that!” exclaimed Jack, as he leaned out of a window to look. “The expressman is pulling off some tents and other camping stuff, and Sam is telling him where to place it. Say, those fellows are going camping after all their high-flown talk about a hotel, and I’ll wager we run across them again before the summer’s over!”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” spoke Tom. “No matter, we’ll have a good time anyhow. We’d better be getting ready to leave on our own hook.”
As the train pulled out again our friends saw Sam and Nick arranging their tent and baggage, but the two did not look up at their former schoolmates.
Wilden was soon reached, and as Tom was making inquiries of the freight agent as to whether or not his boat had arrived a man stepped up and greeted our hero.
“Isn’t this Tom Fairfield, and his camping chums?” he asked pleasantly.
“It is, and you – ”
“I’m Mr. Amos Henderson. My wife used to go to school with your mother, and when Sallie – that’s my wife – heard you were coming up here she got all ready for you. She sent me down to the station to bring you up to the house. I said I didn’t think I’d know you, but land shucks! Sallie said that didn’t matter. She told me to pick out four boys, and they’d be sure to be the right ones.
“And I did, by gum! Though it wasn’t a hard matter, seeing as how you’re the only ones who got off the train. But come on now, supper’s waiting, and Sallie won’t like it to get cold.”
Tom and his chums, pleased with their warm reception, followed Mr. Henderson, and were soon sitting down to a substantial meal, enlivened by much talk.
“Tell us all you can about the old mill, and that crazy man, please,” asked Tom, during a lull in the conversation.
“Oh, I do hope you don’t run across him!” exclaimed Mrs. Henderson. “He’s really dangerous,” and she proceeded to give a few more details of the story of the secret of the mill, already substantially known to my readers.
Tom and his chums asked innumerable questions, as to how to reach the mill, and where the best spot to camp would be.
“I can see what those boys are pointing for,” said Mr. Henderson when the four had gone to bed.
“What?” asked his wife.
“The old mill. You couldn’t keep ’em away with ropes. They’ll go poking about it, looking for that treasure, which I don’t believe exists, and they’ll have a row with old Wallace as sure as chickens.”
“Oh, Amos! What had we better do?”
“Can’t do anything, as I can see. Those boys will do as they please, anyhow. But I guess they can look out for themselves.”
Early the next morning Tom went to see about getting the boat and other stuff carted to the camp in the woods. On the advice of Mr. Henderson they had picked out the east shore of the lake, that being the nearest to Wilden.
“And that side is the most direct road to the old mill, by way of the river,” said Mr. Henderson, “but,” he added, with a twinkle in his eyes, “I don’t ’spose you boys will go there.”
“Oh, won’t we though!” exclaimed Tom, laughing.
Provisions