“I told him all about it, Lanky; and, although he laughed at your idea, he was willing enough to make me a messenger, to do some business with the head of the tribe, who, you must know, is the old queen herself!”
“Say, you do beat anything I ever saw for getting down to business,” declared Lanky, proudly. “Why, that’ll just give us the chance of our lives to see what’s inside that big van of hers; won’t it?”
“It would, if she invites us in,” replied Frank; “you see, she might act suspicious. Perhaps she even noticed what you did when we passed the caravan Saturday. You turned your head, and stared straight at that particular van. I saw the driver look sour at you, just like he wanted to tell you to mind your own business. As to getting a look-in; as Jack Eastwick would say, ‘maybe, maybe not.’”
“But no matter,” persisted the determined Lanky, “even if we don’t get an invite to come in, you can be talking to the old lady to beat the band, while I just meander around the camp, and see what’s doing. Mebbe I might even run across the little girl somewhere. Just give me a chance to say ten words to her, and it’ll settle the business whether she’s bein’ kept there against her will.”
“Well, when shall we go—to-night, or in the morning early before school?” Frank went on to ask.
“I’ll see you after we get out this afternoon, and we can settle it then,” replied the tall boy, after reflection. “You see, seems to me the night time isn’t the best for what I want. She’s only a little mite of a girl, and chances are she’d be asleep by then. I’d rather take the mornin’, when she’d be wide-awake.”
“That’s where you show a wise head,” commented Frank, as they turned once more toward the schoolhouse at the other end of the campus, where scores of boys and girls were gathered in groups, or walking back and forth, laughing, talking and altogether making merry.
Frank pretended not to notice, but he saw Lanky suddenly stiffen up, and turn his head toward a certain point where a rather handsome, though proud-looking, young fellow was sauntering with a very pretty girl, who had just come to high school that year.
Of course this latter was the fickle Dora, about whom so much had been said, and who was surely pretty enough to turn the head of even a plain, sensible fellow like Lanky Wallace. And the boy could be no other than the “city fellow,” Walter Ackerman, toward whom half the maids in Columbia were friendly disposed, since he certainly was the best-looking boy in town.
Just then was heard a great shouting from the basement and a crowd of boys came trooping forth, laughing uproariously.