CHAPTER 4 High Water

As Mr. Hatfield and the Cubs watched, Guy Wentworth leaped from the stalled car.

“Come back here, Jack!” he shouted after the fleeing boy.

The lad, however, had disappeared.

Mr. Wentworth splashed through the high water to the curb. Realizing that he could not hope to overtake the agile boy, he entered a drugstore, evidently to telephone police.

Upon his return a few minutes later, he paused beside the Hatfield car to talk to the Cub Scout leader.

“What happened?” Mr. Hatfield asked him.

“Oh, Jack Phillips, one of the boys from the Child Study Institute, eluded me. I’ve notified the police. They may pick him up later tonight, but I doubt it. Jack is as slippery as an eel.”

“You were taking him to a boys’ industrial school?” Mr. Hatfield inquired.

“No, to a private boarding home—to a woman named Mrs. Jones,” the social worker replied. “Jack’s a real problem.”

“I’d judge so,” commented Mr. Hatfield.

“He’s restless and unstable. Parents are dead. He’s been under our supervision more or less for three years now.” Mr. Wentworth drew a long breath. “It’s been a job, I’m telling you. Jack always has an itch to run away, and get into trouble.”

“I take it he didn’t look with favor on the idea of being placed in a private home?”

“Jack likes to fend for himself,” the social worker replied. “He hates restriction. That, of course, is what he needs and must have. I’m afraid, despite our efforts, he’ll end up in an industrial school.”

“Think you’ll ever see him again?”

“Oh, the police will pick him up eventually,” Mr. Wentworth said. “They always do. But the question is—what to do with him when he is brought back.”

“Well, I hope you think of something,” the Cub leader returned. “I hate to think of a boy being sent to an industrial school, if he has any good in him.”

“Jack took advantage of me, when my car stalled in this high water. I see you’re stuck too. Maybe I can give you a push.”

Applying his shoulder, the social worker tried to roll the car backward toward higher pavement.

“Don’t do that,” Mr. Hatfield commanded. “You’ll strain yourself. I’ll call a tow car.”

“We’ll help push,” Brad offered, starting to get out into the water.

“No, wait,” Mr. Wentworth ordered. “You youngsters oughtn’t to freeze yourselves. This water is like ice. I’m already soaked to the knees. Tell you what! I’ll go back to the drugstore and telephone for a tow car that will push both autos on through.”

The solution seemed the most satisfactory one. Mr. Wentworth started back toward the drugstore. Half way there, he paused as his ears detected the sound of an approaching vehicle.

A moment later a fire engine, returning from a run, came into view. The driver, seeing the water ahead, pulled up.

“Stalled?” he called to Mr. Wentworth.

“That’s right.”

“Hop back in your car, and we’ll give you a shove,” the fireman offered.

Both Mr. Wentworth’s automobile and Sam Hatfield’s sedan were pushed through the water. Neither could be started immediately. However, after the spark plugs were dried out, both cars were in running order once more.

“Many thanks,” Mr. Hatfield told the firemen. “I’ll be glad to get home. I’m carrying a valuable load tonight.”

The firemen, assuming that Mr. Hatfield referred to the carload of Cub Scouts, made a joking reply. They told the Cub leader that the storm had been a severe one. Several trees had blown down and many streets were flooded.

Relieved to be on their way once more, Mr. Hatfield drove directly to his residence.

“I want to rid myself of this money box first of all,” the Cub leader said. “Then I’ll take you boys home.”

“Why don’t we stay a few minutes and help you count it?” Brad suggested. “The job shouldn’t take long.”

“Not a bad idea,” Mr. Hatfield agreed. “Just so your folks don’t worry. Better telephone them and explain that you’ve been delayed a few minutes.”

The Cub leader carried the money box into the living room. While the boys were telephoning, he built a fire in the grate.

“Now to count the money,” he said when the Cubs had returned to the living room. “Fred, pull the blinds. We don’t need any spectators.”

Fred hastened to obey.

“I hope no one followed us here,” Dan said uneasily. “That car—”

“Oh, we lost it before we stalled in the high water,” Mr. Hatfield reassured him. “The chances are we imagined we were being trailed.”

“Maybe, only I thought—”

“Fellows, just because we found a cash box is no reason for working up a high-grade case of the jitters,” the Cub leader said. “The important thing is to maintain a sensible outlook. Now let’s count the money.”

“Right-o,” grinned Dan. “Guess I did let my imagination lead me a race.”

With the blinds lowered, the boys opened up the money box. The neat packages were stacked on the dining-room table.

Mr. Hatfield counted while the others watched and wrote down the tally.

“Two thousand one hundred and seventy-five dollars!” he announced when the last bill had been counted.

“Wow! What a haul!” Dan exclaimed.

“What will we do with it?” Brad asked. “Turn everything over to the police?”

“That’s the only thing to do,” Mr. Hatfield declared. “I dislike to be bothered with a lot of questions tonight though.”

“Then why not wait until morning before calling police?” Brad suggested. “That is, if you think the money will be safe here.”

“Oh, I’m not worried on that score, Brad. I’ll put the box away and lock all the doors. Yes, I believe I will wait until tomorrow before notifying the police. Then they can make a thorough investigation.”

Replacing the money in the box, Mr. Hatfield carried it upstairs. A few minutes later, he returned empty handed.

“Where’d you hide the cash?” Fred asked his father. “Under a mattress?”

“A better place than that, I hope,” replied Mr. Hatfield. He did not reveal the hiding place.

Brad and Dan picked up their caps, ready to leave.

Mr. Hatfield again offered to take the boys home.

“Oh, we can walk,” Brad said quickly as the Cub leader searched for his car keys. “It’s less than two blocks.”

“Sure,” agreed Dan. “You stay here, Mr. Hatfield, and guard that money.”

Observing that the rain had ceased, the Cub leader allowed himself to be persuaded. However, he accompanied the boys to the front door.

“Since you were the ones who found the money, the police probably will want to question you tomorrow,” he warned.

“That’s okay,” Dan said. “We’ll be around.”

“I’ll call the police station early in the morning,” Mr. Hatfield promised. “Meanwhile—don’t speak to anyone about the box or how much it contained.”

Dan and Brad were rather surprised that the Cub leader should mention the subject twice.

“You may be certain we won’t,” Brad promised.

“I should say not,” added Dan emphatically.

“All the Cubs can be trusted, I know,” Mr. Hatfield declared as he bade the pair good-bye. “Well, boys, I’ll see you in the morning. Good night to you both, and no nightmares about hidden treasure!”