“A bright idea, Dick!” exclaimed another boy who had not as yet broken into the conversation. Leslie Capes was known as a fellow of few words, preferring to listen until he had mastered all the points of a discussion before giving his particular views.
“Come along then, fellows,” urged the big, broad-shouldered Nat, eagerly, leading the way along the street; “and ten to one you’ll say my scheme is just the boss way to pay old Nocker back for all he’s done to the boys of Cliffwood.”
While they are hurrying along toward the open sand lot spoken of, a few explanations regarding the fun-loving lads may not come in amiss, since these boys and others of the rising generation of Cliffwood are destined to figure largely in our story.
Dick Horner was a clever young chap, though inclined to be headstrong and wild. He lived in an humble cottage home with his little sister Sue, his mother, a widow, and old “Grandpop” Horner, a Civil War veteran, who had long been a striking figure in Cliffwood. The old soldier with his white locks down almost to his shoulders lived pretty much in the days of the dead and gone past, and could rarely talk without bringing up the times when he had fought so well.
Pretty much all the Horners had to live upon consisted of the pension a generous government paid the veteran yearly in installments, and a small yearly sum from a meager investment in some industrial stocks, so that Dick seldom saw anything like new clothes unless he earned the money himself.
Dan Fenwick and Leslie Capes were Dick’s two most intimate chums. The former was as full of the spirit of mischief as Dick himself, but when it came down to a question of leadership, both of them readily yielded the palm to Dick, whose will seemed to bend theirs.
Leslie’s folks were comfortably well off. In addition to this there was an old indulgent uncle living with them, who could be prevailed upon to keep Leslie well supplied with funds, though the money always came accompanied with good advice. Uncle Henry believed in boys.
Peg Fosdick had once broken his leg, and ever since had walked with a slight limp. At home and in school he was called Oscar, but the temptation to dub him “Peg” had proved so strong that long ago he had yielded to the inclination of his companions and readily answered to that nickname.
The other boys were Andy Hale and Elmer Jones, both of them just ordinary chaps without any remarkable traits of character. Both were good-natured fellows, ready for fun, or even a little row for a change, the type of boy you can always run across by the dozen in any American town.
Cliffwood was something of a manufacturing town, by virtue of the output of several mills that depended on the water power yielded by the little Sweetwater River. Half a mile above the town lay the rapids, with a fall of some fifteen feet or more. This natural advantage in power had caused the erection of the big Bartlett Paper Mills, and several other manufacturing establishments.