CHAPTER V

ON THE WAY TO PUTNAM HALL

“I don’t think we’ll want to send word to Aunt Martha to be taken back,” observed Sam, who sat on the driver’s seat with the hired man.

“Neither do I,” returned Tom.  “To be sure, we have a nice enough home here, but it’s dreadfully slow.”

“There is no telling what may be in store for us,” joined in Dick.  “Don’t you remember how Fred Garrison fared at Holly School?  That institution sent out a splendid circular, and when Fred got there they almost starved him to death.”

“That is true.  Where is Fred now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mr. Colby wouldn’t recommend Putnam Hall if it wasn’t all right,” remarked Tom.  “Jack, whip up the team, or we’ll miss that train.”

“They are going putty well now, Master Tom,” replied the driver.

The trunks had gone on ahead, and when they reached the depot at Oak Run they found old Ricks grumbling because no one was there to check them.

“Do you reckon I’m going to be responsible for everybody’s baggage?” he snarled as Dick approached him.

“I’ll check them as soon as I can get tickets,” answered Dick curtly.  “What an old bear he is!” he whispered to Tom.  “He didn’t treat me half decently when I was over here about the watch.”

“If only we had a little time I would fix him,” whispered Tom in return.  He had sobered down for several days now and was dying to play a trick on somebody.

They went into the station and procured tickets, and then found the time for the train had been changed, and it would not be along for nearly half an hour.

“Good!  Just wait till I get back,” said Tom.

He had noticed Ricks gathering up some waste paper around the depot, and felt tolerably certain the old fellow was about to build a bonfire of it.  Walking over to one of the stores, he entered, and asked the proprietor if he had any large firecrackers on hand.

“Just two, sir,” said the storekeeper, and brought them forth.  Each was six inches long and thick in proportion.

“How much?” asked the boy.

“Seeing as they are the last I have, I’ll let you have them for fifteen cents each.”

“I’ll give you a quarter for the two.”

“Very well; here you are,” and the transfer was made on the spot.  Slipping the firecrackers into his coat pocket, Tom sauntered up to old Ricks, while Sam and Dick looked on, sure that something was in the wind.

“Ricks, that is pretty bad news from Middletown, isn’t it?” he observed.

“Bad news?  What do you mean?” demanded the station master, as he threw some more waste paper on the fire, which he had just lit.

“About that dynamite being stolen by train wreckers.  They think some of the explosive was brought up here.”

“Didn’t hear of it.”

“Dynamite is pretty bad stuff to have around, so I’ve heard.”