The Eight-Oared Victors/Chapter 20
CHAPTER XX
A STRANGE CONFERENCE
"You missed it, old man; we had a dandy time," remarked Frank, when he, together with Sid and Phil, drifted into the sleeping tent some time later.
"That's right, Tom," added Sid. "The cake was good."
"And the lemonade, too," added Phil.
"Um!" sleepily grunted Tom. Or was he only simulating sleep?
"And the girls were jolly," went on Frank.
"And Ruth wanted to know why you hadn't come," proceeded Sid, keeping up the chorus of description.
"Oh, let me go to sleep," growled Tom.
"Bossy and his chum blew in, but they didn't stay long," added Phil. "I guess they didn't expect to find us there."
"Was Boswell there?" demanded Tom, sitting up on his cot.
"Sure," retorted Sid, at the same time giving Frank a nudge in the ribs as much as to say: "There's where the shoe pinches."
"I've got a headache," said Tom, only half truthfully. "I guess that row in the hot sun was a little too much for me to-day."
"Can we do anything for you?" asked Frank, trying to make his voice sound anxious.
"No, I'll sleep it off," and turning with his face toward the tent wall, Tom proceeded to slumber—or pretend to.
It was two days after this when Tom and Ruth met. He had studiously avoided calling at the Tyler cottage, though the other boys went over each evening. Tom gave some excuse, and each time Sid and the others came in at night they would remark about the good time they had had.
"You're missing it," declared Phil, winking at his chums. "Boswell is filling in your place fine."
"Was he there again?" snapped Tom.
"Sure thing. He and Sis seem to get on well together, though I don't care for the chap. Still he isn't such a bad sort as I thought at first."
As a matter of fact Boswell had not called since that first evening, but Phil guessed Tom's secret, and wickedly and feloniously egged it on.
"What's the matter, Tom; why haven't you called?" asked Ruth with perfect sincerity when she and the tall pitcher did meet, following some busy days devoted for the most part by the boys to rowing practice. "I wanted to ask you about something?"
"I—er—I've been busy," he said, trying to make himself believe that. Ruth didn't. "Besides," he blurted out, with a school-boy mannerism that he hated himself for disclosing, "I thought Mr. Boswell could keep you interested."
"Tom Parsons!" and Ruth's eyes flashed dangerously.
"He seems to be quite a steady caller," he stumbled on, growing more and more confused and uncomfortable. He felt more childish than ever, and I am not saying he was not. "I didn't know whether there'd be room for me and"
"Tom, I don't think that's fair of you," and Ruth was plainly hurt. "Mr. Boswell has only been over one evening, when the other boys were there, and"
"Only once?" cried Tom.
"That's all. The same evening of the day when we were out in his launch. I couldn't help talking to him then, and if you think"
"I don't think anything!" broke in Tom. "I've been a chump. They said he'd been over there every night. Oh, wait until I get hold of your brother!"
"Did Phil say that?"
"He did."
"Then I'll settle with him, too. But, Tom, I wanted to ask if you thought there was any chance of finding my brooch?"
"I don't know, Ruth. It begins to look rather hopeless."
"That's what I thought, and, as long as I'm not going to get it back I may as well admit that it is gone. I can't go on deceiving people this way, even in so small a matter. I suppose it was careless of me to let the clasp get broken in the first place. I put it on in a hurry one day, and strained it. And in the second place, I suppose I ought to have given it to a more reliable jeweler.
"But that Mr. Farson called at the college one day soliciting repair work to do. He said he had some from Boxer Hall, so I thought he was all right, and let him take my pin. I'm sorry now."
"Yes, it is too bad," assented Tom, "but it can't be helped. I don't really believe, Ruth, that there's any use looking on this island for the pin. I have been keeping my eyes open for it, but I'm beginning to think that it's like hunting for the proverbial thimble in the straw pile."
"You mean needle in the haystack."
"Well, it's the same thing. I never can get those proverbs straight. The only hope is that we might, some day, discover who took the things, and your brooch might be recovered. But it's a pretty slim chance, now that all our clues seemed to have failed."
"That's what I thought. So I guess I'll confess and brave grandmother's wrath. But, oh! I know she'll never leave me her lovely pearls! "
"Maybe someone else will," suggested Tom. "Will you come down to the store and have some soda water? He's got in a fresh lot, I believe."
"I will, Tom, for I'm thirsty enough to drink even the lemon-pop Mr. Richards sells. Come on," and the two walked on, the little cloud that had come between them having blown away. But Ruth said nothing about Boswell's promise to show her his mother's old-fashioned brooch. Perhaps she thought he had forgotten the matter; and, she reasoned, there was no need of awakening Tom's jealousy.
It was after Tom had parted from Ruth, with a promise to call that evening with the other boys, that, walking along the island shore, taking a short cut to the camp, he heard voices coming from the direction of the water. He looked through the screen of bushes, and saw Boswell and the Mexican caretaker, sitting in a boat not far from shore. The college lad was handing Mendez something, and by the sun's rays Tom caught the glitter of gold. At the same time a puff of wind brought their voices plainly to him, the water aiding in carrying the tones.
"Do you think you could get an old-fashioned pin like that?" Boswell was asking. "You know something about jewelry; don't you?"
"Of a surety, senor. But this would be hard to duplicate. It is very old."
"I know, but I want one like that, or as near it as possible. Can't you get one the same place you got that?"
"No, senor, that was the only one there was, and when I sell him to you for your respected mother I regret that I can get no more of him."
"Where did you get that?" asked Boswell, as he took back from the Mexican what Tom could now see was some sort of breastpin.
"Why do you ask, senor?" retorted the man, quickly.
"Oh, nothing special. Why, you act as though you thought that I was going to accuse you of stealing it."
"Never, senor!" exclaimed the man quickly. "I get this from a friend, and I sell it to you for very little more than I paid."
"Oh, it was cheap enough," went on the lad. "Tm not kicking. Only I'd like to get another. I knew mother would like this, and she did. She loves old-fashioned things."
"And you want another for one who also loves of the time that is past—is that it, senor?"
"You've guessed it, Mendez. But keep mum about it. I want to surprise her."
Then the wind, blowing in a contrary direction, carried the voices away, and Tom kept on, having only halted momentarily.