CHAPTER 18 A JOLT FOR PAT

Dan and Brad both were excited as the realization came to them that at least they had a means of establishing the innocence of the Cubs!

Until now, though they had been morally certain that Pat Oswald and his gang were the real culprits, they had known of no way to prove it.

But a witness miraculously had appeared! The mysterious “Mr. Smith” could, if he chose, speak the words which would clear Den 2. Would he agree to tell what he knew and had seen from the belfry?

“Will you come with us?” Dan repeated his plea. “Please, will you help the Cubs?”

“I’d like to, son,” the man replied.

“Then come with us now,” Brad urged. “We’ll take you directly to the church trustees.”

“Let’s not be too hasty,” Mr. Smith said. “If I tell what I know, I’ll have to explain how I happened to be roosting here. That could be awkward.”

“You want to help the Cubs, don’t you?” Dan pleaded. “Isn’t it only right that the truth should be known?”

“The truth will come out,” Mr. Smith promised the boys. “It’s a matter of timing though. I have to think of my own interests. I’m here in Webster City for a special purpose. If I should tell now that I’ve been living in this belfry—well, it might jeopardize everything I’m after.”

“Then you won’t go with us to the trustees?” Brad asked, bitterly disappointed.

“Let’s not put it that way, son. I want to help. I will too. I’m pretty sure I can identify the boys who damaged this church. The point is, I’d like to postpone the dramatic announcement for a day or two. Wouldn’t that be okay?”

“I suppose so,” Brad admitted reluctantly.

“I’m getting out of this place right away,” the stranger continued. “As soon as I can pick up mail at the Post Office, I’ll see a certain party. Then, it may be I’ll be in a position to help you. Or there may be a few days delay.”

Brad and Dan could not make up their minds that they were not being “stalled.” Mr. Smith seemed sincere, yet how could they be sure he merely was not trying to fool them. Once they parted from him, they might never see him again.

“How will we know where to find you?” Dan asked dubiously. “We can’t come back here or we’ll be accused of breaking in.”

“I can’t stay here any longer either,” the stranger declared. “Tell you what! When is your next basketball game?”

“Friday night,” Brad informed him.

“I’ll see you at the church gymnasium then. That will give me a few days to wind up my business here. Also, I’ll be on hand to identify that boy you call Pat.”

“Say, that might work out all right!” Dan exclaimed. “But how do we know you’ll keep your promise?”

“You’ll have to accept my word.”

Brad and Dan knew that they had no choice. They could not force the stranger to accompany them to see the church trustees. If they reported the man to police, undoubtedly he would disappear before they could return to his hide-out.

“I’ll not fail you,” the man promised, smiling as if he had read their thoughts. “Just one favor. You’re to tell no one that you have seen me here.”

“Not even our Cub leader?” Dan asked.

“No one.”

The two boys hesitated, reluctant to give such a binding promise.

“I’ll agree to come to the game Friday night,” Mr. Smith went on, “but only upon condition that you keep my secret until then. How about it?”

“I guess so,” Brad said unwillingly. Dan too nodded his head.

“Cub’s honor?”

“Cub’s honor,” Dan repeated. “We won’t tell anyone about seeing you here.”

“I know I can trust you boys,” the stranger said. He had gathered up a few belongings, and was stuffing them into a bag. “Don’t look so bewildered. Everything will be explained in good time.”

“There’s one thing I’d like to know right now,” Brad said.

“Shoot!”

“Well, maybe you can clear up the mystery of how the ice cream freezers were delivered to the Cubs. Did you see Pat Oswald and his bunch take them from the basement here?”

Mr. Smith busied himself polishing his scuffed shoes with an old rag. He kept smiling to himself, apparently enjoying his own secret.

“You know all about those freezers!” Brad accused.

“Tell us how they happened to be delivered to us!” Dan requested.

“Well, it was like this,” Mr. Smith said. “I overheard the Cubs talking about needing a couple of freezers. Maybe I shouldn’t have done it, but I dug ’em out of the basement here, and left them at the church.”

“You certainly put us in a spot,” Brad informed him. “We had a swell time making the ice cream, but Terry Treuhaft came looking for those freezers. He would have made a fearful fuss, only as it happened, we didn’t have ’em.”

“Someone—we suspect Pat and his bunch—had swiped them,” Dan explained, grinning at the recollection.

Now that the incident was half-way forgotten, his resentment at Pat gradually was fading.

“I shouldn’t have done it,” Mr. Smith admitted. “But no one was using those freezers. The Cubs needed ’em. So I thought I’d do them a friendly turn.”

“You’re certainly all for the Cubs,” Dan said, studying the stranger curiously. “Is it because of Chub?”

“Well, I took a shine to the youngster.”

Mr. Smith had finished picking up his toilet articles. Now that his hair was combed, his clothing brushed, he looked entirely presentable.

“You know,” Dan said abruptly, “you look a lot like Chub. Same eyes—hair.”

“Say, that’s right!” agreed Brad, startled by Dan’s observation. “Maybe you’re a relative!”

“Maybe I am,” the man admitted. “Maybe I’m a close relative.”

“Not his father?” Dan guessed.

“Yes, his father,” the stranger repeated, almost defiantly. “Anything wrong with it? You think he’d be ashamed if he knew the truth?”

“Why, no,” Dan stammered. “Why should he be ashamed of you?”

“Because I’ve neglected him all these years,” the man burst out. “Because I’m living in this belfry instead of in a decent house or hotel, the way other folks do. Because I have no job! Because if folks knew I was Chub’s father they’d say I was no good.”

“Not if it weren’t true,” Dan answered quietly. “Chub’s terribly lonesome. He needs a Dad.”

“One that he could be proud of,” the man answered in a bitter voice. “It’s better that I go away and never tell him the truth!”

“Would that be fair to Chub?” Brad asked.

“It might be the kindest thing I could do. He has a good home here. I’ve checked into that.”

“Chub has a good home,” Dan agreed, “but he isn’t happy. He’s always mooning around, not talking much, but sort of wrapped in his own thoughts. He needs a Dad.”

“Your name isn’t Smith,” Brad took up the discussion. “Is it Weldon, the same as Chub’s?”

“That’s right. He doesn’t know who I am though.”

Chub’s father remained silent for some minutes. Then, apparently having made up his mind to tell the Cubs everything about himself, he said:

“Things are coming to a head fast. I expect to pull out of Webster City in a few days at the latest. I haven’t decided yet whether or not to tell Chub that I’m his father. Can I depend upon you boys to keep the secret—at least for the time being?”

“Of course,” Brad said at once.

“We wouldn’t tell Chub unless you gave us permission,” Dan added. “That wouldn’t be square.”

“My real name is Bruce Weldon,” the man disclosed. “I’ll not go too much into the past, except to say that some years ago through no fault of my own, I lost touch with Chub.”

“How?” Brad inquired.

“Well, in a divorce proceeding, his custody was awarded to my wife. Chub was only a baby then and needed a mother to look after him. I sent money regularly for his care. That is, I did until I was wounded while serving at the front. For months, I lay in a hospital, but through a mix-up of records, I was reported missing in action.”

“Then what happened?” Dan asked, deeply interested in the story.

“Eventually, I recovered and started checking up. I learned then that my wife had died, and that Chub had been placed in the home of one of her friends.

“When I inquired there, I discovered that the arrangement hadn’t worked out well, and that he had been shifted elsewhere. To make a long story short, it took me nearly six months to trace Chub to Webster City. Meanwhile, I’d spent most of my money, and I couldn’t take a job, because I didn’t want to settle down until I found Chub.”

“Now that you’ve found him, why not tell him who you are?” Brad suggested. “Wouldn’t that straighten everything?”

“It’s not that simple,” Mr. Weldon replied. “I’ve made a contact with Juvenile Court authorities, but the director isn’t satisfied it would be for Chub’s best interests to let me have him again. You see, it hinges on my ability to support him. I know I can get a good job and keep it too, but the court demands proof.”

“Have you talked to Mr. Greene?” Dan questioned. “He’s real nice and might help you.”

“I know Mr. Greene very well.”

“I guess he knows about Chub too,” Dan said, recalling the visit of the Cubs to Juvenile Court. “Gee, it was sort of funny! I actually thought Chub might have been in trouble with the court, because everyone there seemed to be acquainted with him. It was only because they were looking out for his rights.”

“Chub never was in trouble in his life,” Mr. Weldon said proudly. “He’s a mighty good youngster, bright in school too. Mr. Greene assured me of that. His only problem is that he isn’t very happy.”

“Being a Cub though, has helped,” Brad said. “He’s more sure of himself, and he hardly ever stutters any more unless he’s excited.”

Mr. Weldon nodded and made the boys a promise. “I’ll always stick up for the Den 2 boys. You know why? They were kind to Chub and didn’t tease him. Now about cleaning up those accusations against the Cubs. Shall we do it on the night of the basketball game?”

“That would be the best time,” Brad agreed. “How will we arrange it?”

“Leave that to me,” said Mr. Weldon confidently. “Just have Mr. Greene attend the game, and if possible the trustees of this church.”

“I’ll get ’em there, if I have to give them free tickets to the game!” Dan chortled. “Wow! What a sockaroo Pat Oswald has in store! Even if he and his gang win that Friday game, they’re going to get the jolt of their lives!”