Even the Shark, who might have spoken from the text of “I told you so,” let the opportunity pass. His calculations of the flight of the boulder had started him upon an agreeable inquiry into the subject of projectiles, and, as Poke declared, he was as far in the clouds as if he had been sent there by one of the big mortars about which he was reading.
In the club’s opinion that there was nothing to be done, Sam was in a way to coincide, though he would have phrased it that nothing could be done at present. Yet something should be done. This was clear in his mind, though he seemed to be unable to hit upon a practical suggestion.
No news came of the missing Orkney.
Lon Gates, playing detective at every opportunity, confessed that he found nothing either to shake or to confirm his theory of the guilt of Peter Groche. The man, after hanging about town as usual, had dropped out of sight, leaving no word of the destination for which he was bound.
Then came Christmas and a fortnight’s vacation, and Sam shared cheerfully in the festivities of the season. He was in excellent health; he liked fun; he indulged vigorously in winter sports; his appetite remained admirable. But, for all that, there was a change in the boy, quite unobserved by his father, who was held by business cares; vaguely felt by his friends, and distinctly marked by his mother. Mrs. Parker took occasion to have several long talks with her son. She was sure that he had something on his mind, but all her tact did not lead him to confidences. Sam understood her solicitude, and was grateful, if reticent. A fellow who was trying to prove his self-reliance, he reasoned, must work out his problems for himself. Not that he would have declined counsel from older heads—probably he would have welcomed a chance to accept his father’s advice, the affair appearing to him to be peculiarly one for masculine consideration; but he would not seek it.
Mr. Parker, as has been related, was very busy. For one thing, he was arranging a trip into the woods with a capitalist from New York, and plans for the expedition took up much of his time. For another, his method of dealing with Sam on probation was to interfere as little as possible with the boy’s affairs. Sam’s school reports were good; he seemed to be avoiding scrapes; he had distinguished himself in the rescue of Tom Orkney and Little Perrine. On the whole, the father was well pleased with the situation as he observed it.
Sam himself was not pleased. It is not good to have a sense of uncertainty, and of baffled intentions to do right. On the one hand was his remembrance of his precautions in trying to follow out his motto of “Safety First”; on the other, an uneasy conviction that Tom Orkney had suffered unjustly. Sometimes one seemed to outweigh the other; again he vacillated miserably between the two opinions. And one day, not long after Christmas, when his doubts were assailing him sorely, he recalled the Major’s invitation, and sought diversion in a visit to the veteran.
The Major received him with marked favor, cracked a joke or two about his big game record, and began to make the round of what was really a fine collection of arms. There were flint-lock muskets and fowling-pieces; muzzle-loading and breech-loading rifles; cutlasses, sabers and bayonets; huge, old-fashioned horse pistols, revolvers and even a modern, compact, automatic weapon. Of these the Major spoke briefly; but he lingered longer over a case in which lay a brace of pistols, very old in pattern, but of exquisite workmanship.
“I wonder, Sam,” he said, “if you ever have seen such fellows as these? What do you think they are?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, sir,” Sam answered.