“That doesn’t sound like Elroy Jefferson,” said Mr. Hardy. “I’m sure he wouldn’t give any such orders. As far as I remember him, he has always been a rather kindly old chap.”
“We thought perhaps he had sold the island.”
“I haven’t heard of its changing hands. I can’t imagine why he would have a watchman there in the winter, anyway. Ask him about it when you see him tomorrow.”
The next morning, although the boys had discussed the note from Mr. Jefferson many times, they had still failed to arrive at any satisfactory conclusion as to the reason why he should want them to call on him; so they were awaiting the interview with curiosity and expectation.
That morning, while on an errand downtown for their mother, the brothers met Callie Shaw and Iola Morton. Both girls attended the Bayport high school and were in the same grade as the Hardy boys. Callie, a brown-eyed, brown-haired girl, was Frank’s particular favorite among the girls at school, while Iola, plump and dark, Chet Morton’s sister, was the only girl who had ever won even a reluctant admiration from the bashful Joe, who had even gone so far as to admit that she was “all right—as a girl.” Which, from Joe, was high praise.
“Well, it’s good to see you alive!” exclaimed Callie. “From what we’ve been hearing, it’s lucky you’re able to come downtown at all today.”
“Yes,” chimed in Iola, “Chet has been telling me all about it. I should think you’d have been patting yourself on the back ever since.”
The boys looked at one another blankly.
“What yarn has Chet been springing now?” asked Frank.
“No yarn. He was telling us how narrowly you all escaped being killed out on the bay yesterday afternoon.”
“Oh, that!” laughed Frank. “It wasn’t so bad. We might have got bumped about a bit, but we were lucky.”
“That’s letting you tell it!” exclaimed Iola. “Chet says that if it hadn’t been for the way you handled that iceboat, Frank, there would have been a terrible smash-up.”
“Oh, Chet usually exaggerates,” said Frank uncomfortably.
“You’re too modest,” put in Callie quickly. “He told us all about it. I think you deserve a lot of credit, Frank.”
“You bet he does!” cried Joe warmly, oblivious of his brother’s embarrassment. “He saved our lives.”
“And as for those other boys!” continued Callie. “If that Ike Nash or Tad Carson ever dare speak to me again I’ll go past them with my nose in the air. Won’t you, Iola?”
“I certainly will. And I’m going to tell the other girls about it, too. I think it was mean of them, and I’m glad their old boat got smashed.”
“Oh, I guess they’ve suffered enough,” said Frank. “No use rubbing it in.”
“If they had smashed your boat they would have told the story all over Bayport. I’m certainly glad it turned out the way it did,” said Callie.
“Drat that Chet,” muttered Frank, after the girls had gone on down the street. “Why can’t he keep quiet? He’ll be making me out a hero if he keeps up. I didn’t want anything said about that affair.”
“Well, only two girls know about it now,” returned Joe, comfortingly.
“Only two girls!” snorted Frank. “He might as well have published it in the newspaper.”
Nevertheless he was inwardly pleased by Callie’s evident concern over his narrow escape and by her admiration of the way he had acquitted himself in the emergency.
That afternoon, immediately after lunch, the Hardy boys set out for the handsome Jefferson home on the Shore Road. The place was not far away, and as the snow was too deep to permit of using their motorcycles, the boys went on foot. Before they had come within sight of the place they met a chum, Biff Hooper, who frequently accompanied the Hardy boys on their adventures.
They found Biff, who was pugilistically inclined, dancing about in the snow, making wild dashes and lunges at an imaginary sparring partner. He did not see Frank and Joe at first and when they came up to him he had evidently just put the finishing touches to the invisible antagonist, for he was breathing heavily and, as he looked down into the snow, he was counting! “Seven—eight—nine—ten—Out!”
“Hurrah for the new champion!” shouted Joe. “Did you knock him out, Biff?”
Biff swung around quickly and looked very foolish.
“Just doing a little shadowboxing,” he explained, very red in the face. “I didn’t hear you coming.”
“Practising to clean up on the championship?” asked Frank pleasantly. “Whoever he was, you knocked him right off the map.”
“Say,” said Biff, anxious to change the subject, “I’ve been wanting to see you fellows.”
“Looking for a fight?” asked Joe. “Sorry, but we’ve decided not to do any fighting until after Christmas because Santa Claus mightn’t like it and then he wouldn’t put anything in our stockings. You want to be careful, Biff. If Santa hears you’ve been shadowboxing out in the main road you mightn’t get any lollipops on Christmas Eve.”
“Aw, dry up,” grumbled Biff. “I’ve been wanting to see you—no kidding.”
“What about?”
“What are you going to do in the Christmas holidays?”
“Don’t know,” replied Frank. “We haven’t made any plans yet. I guess we’ll just hang around town. We’ve got the iceboat, and there’ll be some skating.”
“How about an outing of some kind? I’ve had that in my mind for the past two or three days. Don’t you think we could all get away somewhere and go camping.”
“Sounds good,” approved Joe. “Where shall we camp?”
“I don’t know. I thought you chaps could look after that end of it.”
“It isn’t so easy to go camping in winter. In summer there are lots of places.”
“Well, think it over,” said Biff. “If you think of a good place and decide to go, be sure and let me know. I’d like to be in on it.”
“Sure thing. We wouldn’t leave you out, Biff.”
“If we could get away right after school closes we could have a good long holiday in camp.”
“How about
