When the Hardy boys explained the situation and told of their adventures and the reason for their delay, Mrs. Hardy was insistent that Jadbury Wilson should make his home with them until he could be on his feet again.
“You’ll certainly have to stay with us!” she said. “There’s plenty of room.”
“I’m sure I’m most thankful to you, ma’am,” said the old prospector humbly.
As for Aunt Gertrude, she was already scurrying about the kitchen making hot ginger for the new guest and when it was ready she stood over Jadbury Wilson until he had drunk the last drop.
Then the boys put him to bed, and as the old man relaxed into the warm blankets he sighed and remarked that it was the first time in five years that he had experienced the comforts of a soft mattress.
Jerry and Chet hastened home, wondering a little what would be said to them. But their people were so relieved at seeing them again that they forbore to lecture the lads, and, all in all, they came through the ordeal better than they had expected.
“Back to school tomorrow!” grumbled Joe, at supper that night.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” said Mrs. Hardy.
“Tell us what?”
“There won’t be any school tomorrow.”
“What?” shouted the boys incredulously.
“You should say, ‘I beg your pardon?’ ” corrected Aunt Gertrude acidly.
Mrs. Hardy smiled.
“I thought you’d be surprised,” she said. “And I suppose you’ll be almost heartbroken. No, there’s to be no school tomorrow. Last night’s blizzard was one of the worst in the history of Bayport. The wind was so strong that it wrecked the high school roof.”
Joe gave a whoop of delight and danced around his chair.
“There’s nothing to cheer about that I can see,” sniffed Aunt Gertrude. “They say the property damage was very bad and it will take about two weeks before the roof is fixed.”
The news proved too much for the Hardy boys. Like most youths of their age, the unexpected prospect of a winter holiday filled them with delight. Mrs. Hardy smiled at them indulgently, for she had not forgotten her own schooldays.
Aunt Gertrude began laying down the law to the effect that the boys must pursue their studies at home quite as ardently as though the school had been undamaged, and on the following day she actually did insist that they do two hours’ studying before they got out in the morning.
When the boys finally made their escape and raced to the nearest hillside with their bobsleds they found most of the students of the Bayport high school already there. Tony Prito, Phil Cohen, Biff Hooper, Chet Morton and Jerry Gilroy were on hand, as well as many of the girls.
Callie Shaw, of whom Frank Hardy was an ardent admirer, and Iola Morton, sister of Chet and the only girl who had ever won an approving glance from Joe Hardy, were hilariously bobsledding and looking unusually pretty in gaily colored sweaters and woollen toques, their eyes sparkling and their cheeks flushed with the cold.
For half an hour or more the sliding continued, the boys having the time of their lives, and then Nemesis appeared on the scene in the person of Officer Con Riley.
Now, as old readers know, Riley was the sworn enemy of the youth of Bayport. A stolid, thickset individual with more dignity and self-importance than brains, he took the responsibilities of his position on the Bayport police force very seriously. He had the view, too common to the type of elderly people who have forgotten that they once were young, that all enjoyment is sinful and that all young people are continually up to mischief.
So, when Con Riley saw the merry party on the hillside he recollected an ancient and obsolete city ordinance forbidding bobsledding elsewhere than in the parks. This ordinance had originally been passed to prevent youngsters sliding down hills adjacent to the trolley tracks and thereby endangering their lives. The fact that there were no trolley tracks near this particular hill mattered nothing to Officer Riley.
Majestically he stood at the bottom of the hill and held up his hand. Sled after sled pulled to a stop and Officer Riley, the personification of the majesty of the law, ordered the fun to cease.
There was nothing to be done. Officer Riley had the authority, and he knew it.
“Well,” said Chet Morton grimly, “we’ll just have to have our fun some other way. Let’s have a snowball fight.”
Officer Riley looked dubious and produced a little notebook which he perused earnestly. He knew Chet Morton and his mischievous proclivities of old. But although he looked through the rules and regulations hopefully he could find nothing to prohibit snowballing. However, he withdrew to the street and paced slowly up and down in the faint hope that perhaps a stray snowball might break a nearby window, in which case he would have a delicious opportunity to interfere once more with the sport.
Chet gathered his cohorts and talked earnestly for a few minutes. Then, with many giggles, his followers set to work building two snow forts directly opposite one another. The forts were merely rude snow embankments, just sufficient to provide protection for the opposing sides. Then the young people began rolling snowballs.
So far, so good. Officer Riley was unable to detect anything wrong in this. Still, the fight had not started. There was still the hope of a shattered window pane.
Majestically, he paced to and fro, keeping a wary eye on the snow forts and the gaily clad figures behind the banks. Then, to his surprise, he saw Chet Morton walking slowly toward him.
Officer Riley eyed Chet suspiciously. The fact did not escape him that Chet had one hand behind his back.
“Aha!” he muttered. “A snowball.”
He was right.
Hardly had the suspicion crossed his mind than it became a frigid reality.
Chet seemed to aim at one of the forts. But his foot appeared to slip and the snowball
