On the way they rehearsed their programme. Chester was to remain outside. Dolph was to ask to see Mr. Finkler, and he and Prentiss and Walker were to enter. Dolph was to do the talking, although it was agreed that the others were to stand by and be ready with their voices in case of an emergency. The proceedings were to be conducted with much dignity and politeness. The situation demanded diplomacy.
But, alas for all their preparations! The roan danced stylishly up the lane, between apple-trees already showing signs of blossoming, and stopped in front of the doorway. Rowdy, evidently not suspecting that the carriage held ancient enemies, arose from the lawn and wagged his tail in welcome. Rowdy was a brown dog. There were various theories as to his breed. Some declared him to be a collie; others were equally certain that he was a water spaniel. All, however, agreed that he was not to be trifled with. Dolph, who descended first from the carriage, observed him attentively as he lowered his legs within reach. But Rowdy only stood off across the drive and wagged his tail slowly and inquiringly.
“Nice dog,” murmured Dolph ingratiatingly, as he turned to the steps.
“Brute!” said Chester.
“Don’t call him names, please,” begged Prentiss, as he prepared to follow Dolph. “He might understand you. It’s all well enough for you, Chesty, but kindly remember that we are unprotected.”
The house was a large, rambling affair, immaculately clean and white. At a little distance were a stable and a barn, and beyond were paddocks in which a number of horses and colts were ambling about. Big elms shaded the buildings, a glimpse of fertile fields and meadows showing beyond, and altogether Farmer Finkler’s place looked prosperous and attractive. There was an old-fashioned knocker on the front door, and with the expression of one about to enter a den of lions, Dolph raised it and beat a faint tattoo. That was the signal for Rowdy to bark, and the boys looked around nervously. But evidently the dog only meant to aid them in summoning the inmates, for he still wagged his tail and kept at a respectful distance. The door was opened by a young girl of about fourteen or fifteen, a decidedly pretty girl, too, as Dolph, who was susceptible to feminine attractions, enthusiastically proclaimed afterwards. She had shimmery brown hair and violet-blue eyes, and a slightly tip-tilted nose. At present the eyes were politely inquiring, as she stood in the dimness of the hall holding the door open and facing the visitors.
“How do you do?” began Dolph, after his first surprise. “Is—is Mr. Finkler at home, please?”
“No, sir; my father is away just now,” was the answer.
“Oh!” said Dolph vaguely.