Allen Chapman - Fenn Masterson's Discovery - or, The Darewell Chums on a Cruise

“Hello!” exclaimed Fenn Masterson, as he opened the front door of his home, in response to a ring, and admitted his chum, Bart Keene. “Glad to see you, Bart. Come on in.”

“What’s the matter with you?” demanded Bart, throwing a strap full of books into a corner of the hall, as if he cared very little for the volumes. “Why weren’t you at school to-day, Stumpy?”

“Oh, I was a little hoarse this morning – ”

“What are you now; a mule?” inquired Bart.

“No – Oh, hang it, you know what I mean – ”

“Sure!” interrupted Bart. “You slept in a stable last night, and, when you woke up you were a little horse. I know.”

“I had a little cold this morning,” went on Fenn. “Mother made me stay home. Thought I was going into consumption, I guess. I’m all right now.”

“Gee, I wish my mother had made me stay home to-day,” proceeded Bart. “The algebra lesson was fierce. We all slumped.”

“What! You don’t mean to say the professor floored Frank Roscoe?” and Fenn looked much surprised.

“Yes, and Ned Wilding, too. I tell you, Stumpy, it was a good thing you slept in that barn and became a little horse, or you’d have gone down to defeat on that problem about multiplying sixteen x, y, z’s by the square root of the difference between – ”

“Pooh! That’s easy,” declared Fenn. “I remember it.”

“Easy? Here, let’s see you do it!” exclaimed Bart, and he grabbed the bundle of books and proceeded to take out the algebra.

“Never mind – there’s no hurry about it. I’ll show you later,” spoke Fenn. “Besides, I’ve got to take my cough medicine now. Come on up to my room.”

“Cough medicine?” repeated Bart, with a reproachful look at his chum.

“Yes, cough medicine,” answered Stumpy, seeing that his visitor rather doubted him. “Mom made me take it. It’s awful nasty stuff, full of tar and horehound and pine – ugh! I hate it.”

“Moral, don’t try to fool your mother and pretend you have a sore throat, when you don’t want to go to school for an algebra exam.,” said Bart solemnly.

“No, honest, I did have a sore throat this morning,” declared Fenn. “It’s all better now. I guess I don’t have to take that medicine. But come on up to my room. I’ve just got a fine collection of minerals.”

“Minerals?”

“Yes, I’m going to collect them now. I sent for a small case, of various kinds, and I’m going to add to it. There are lots of minerals in this section of the state.”

“Let’s see, the last thing you were collecting was Indian arrow heads,” said Bart, in musing tones; “before that it was postage stamps, and before that, postmarks. Then, once, I remember, it was jackknives, and before that – ”

“Oh, let up!” begged Fenn. “Are any of the other fellows coming over?”

“Before that it was butterflies,” went on Bart relentlessly. “I guess your mineral collecting craze will last about as long as any of the others, Stumpy.”

“Well, all the others were too much trouble,” declared Fenn, trying to justify himself. “It’s no fun to be sticking stamps and postmarks in a book, and I had to chase all over the country after butterflies.”

“To say nothing of getting on bad terms with half the boys in the school for trading them poor knives for good ones, when you had that craze,” remarked Bart.

“Oh, I intend to make a fine collection of minerals,” declared Fenn. “I’ll not get tired of that. You see minerals are easy to get. All you have to do is to pick up stones as you walk along. You put them in your pockets and, when you get home, you look in the catalog, see what kind they are, so as to label ’em, and put ’em in one of the little numbered squares of the cabinet. Why, collecting minerals is fun. Besides, it’s valuable information. I might discover – ”

“Sure, of course. Oh, yes – you might discover a gold mine or a hole filled with diamonds!” interrupted Bart. “Oh, Stumpy, I’m afraid you’re a hopeless case.”

“Wait until you see my minerals,” asserted the stout youth, as he led the way up to his room. “When are the other fellows coming over?”

“Oh, Ned’ll be along right away. Frank Roscoe said he had to go on an errand for his father. They both are anxious to see what sort of a game you worked so’s to stay home to-day. They might want to try it themselves.”

The two chums were soon busy inspecting the case of stones which Fenn had bought. There were small samples of ore, spar, crystals and various queer rocks.

“There’s a piece of stone I found out near the river,” said Fenn, pointing to a fragment of a bright red color. “Maybe it’s a new kind of ruby. I’m going to show it to a jeweler.”

“It’s red glass!” declared Bart.

“It is not!”

“I tell you it is! Look, it’s a piece of a bottle. You can see where it curved for the bottom,” and he pointed it out to Fenn.

“I guess you’re right,” admitted the collector, as he tossed the red object away. “Never mind, I’ll get some good specimens yet. Hello, there’s Ned’s whistle,” and he looked out of the window, which, as it was late in June, was wide open. “Come on up, Ned!” he called, “Bart’s here!”

“Coming!” cried Ned. “Lower the drawbridge and raise the portcullis! Lord Mount Saint Dennis Morency Caldwalder de Nois approaches!”

“Yes, I guess it is ‘De Noise’ all right,” murmured Bart. “Since he’s been studying French history he’s been getting off such nonsense as that every chance he has.”

“Greeting, fair and noble sirs!” cried Ned Wilding, reaching the door of Fenn’s room, for, like the other chums, he had the run of the house, “greeting, most noble lords of the high justice, the middle and the low. I give thee greeting!”

“And I give thee that!” interrupted Bart, putting out his foot, and, with a sly motion, upsetting Ned as he was making a low, exaggerated bow.

“First down! Ten yards to gain!” he cried good-naturedly, as he arose, for Ned was a lively, quick-witted youth, full of fun, and never serious for more than a minute at a time.

“I hope that jarred some of the foolishness out of you,” observed Bart.

Suddenly a head was poked in the open window, and a voice exclaimed:

“Gentlemen, allow me to introduce myself. I am the original and only genuine second-story burglar!”

“Frank Roscoe!” exclaimed Fenn. “How did you get there?”

“Climbed up over the porch,” replied the newcomer. “I rang the bell until I was tired, and nobody answered.”

“That’s so, I forgot. Mother’s out this afternoon and there’s no one down stairs. But why didn’t you do as Ned did, walk in? The door’s not locked. I didn’t hear you ring.”

“I prefer this method of stealing into houses,” replied Frank, a tall dark youth, as he bounded from the window sill into the room. “It’s more romantic. Besides I needed exercise, and it was easy climbing up the porch pillar.”

“Don’t give us any romance,” begged Bart.

“No, don’t,” advised Ned, rubbing his thigh where he had come down rather heavily. “The days of romance are dead.”

“That’s not the only thing that’s dead in this town,” put in Fenn. “Things are getting rather dull. We need some excitement to keep us awake.”

The two newcomers soon learned the reason for Fenn’s absence from school that day. They examined his cabinet of minerals and made more or less sarcastic comments about his new fad.

“Yes,” went on Bart, after a pause. “I wish we could have some fun, as we did when we were off camping in the woods, last summer.”