Harper's Round Table, June 30, 1896

INQUISITIVE BILLY AND HIS COUSIN GIBB.

BY RICHARD BARRY.

The only way to prove whether this story is true or not is to find the Professor (who could tell you all about it) and the Quartermaster (who claims to have been an eyewitness), and ask them; or to believe the tale that Billy Schreiber, Jun., and his cousin, Gibson Peters, II., tell, without any proof at all. But the two young gentlemen say they really and truly had this adventure, and that it honestly happened on the Fourth of July.

The Professor had rented the old Hope farm because it was the loneliest place on Long Island; and although he had lots of business on hand, for some reason he did not wish to be caught working at it. Perhaps he was bashful, and did not wish anybody to see him in his shirt sleeves. At all events, he took great precautions.

Now the way that Billy Schreiber and Gibb Peters found out that the Hope farm (it had been deserted for years) was rented was this: They went over there one day, and saw from Trotters Hill that the Hope barn had been reshingled, that the house was evidently occupied, and some men were at work building a road through the apple orchard. It was quite half a mile away, but they could make all this out very plainly.

"What's going on?" said Gibb to Bill.

"Something on the Q. T.," was the answer, "or father would have known about it, you can be sure of that!"

Mr. Schreiber senior was the station agent at the only railroad that came to that part of the country, and he knew the why and wherefore of every parcel that came into the village of Centreport. The boys looked off to the right, and saw piles of new lumber and boxes stored near the barn-yard, and crawling along the lower road a heavy-laden team that kicked up no small amount of dust.

"Those things never came by rail," said Gibb.

"Perhaps they brought them in from the south shore by boat," answered Billy, wisely. "'Tain't more 'an fifteen miles."

"Well, the easiest way to settle it," said Billy, "is to go in and ask them what they're doing."

"Don't think they'd object, do you?" suggested Gibb.

"Of course not," Billy answered. "Let's walk right up the main road."

But they were forced by circumstances to abandon this straightforward, fair, and aboveboard way of doing things. They had hardly turned the bend in the road at the bottom of the hill when there, in front of them, stretched a heavy barbed-wire fence, with the strands so close together that no one could possibly get through it or under it. Even climbing looked risky, and on the top of a post was the following legend, in very black letters:

"Trespassing Forbidden. Beware! No one Allowed on this Property on any Pretence Whatever. No Admittance."

"That kind of stops us," observed Billy to Gibb. "Say! what do you suppose is going on in there, anyhow?"

"Counterfeiters!" exclaimed Gibb; "that's what they are. I've read about them hiring lonely houses."

"It may be," returned his cousin. "But I've got an idea."

Now Billy Schreiber was the smartest boy in the Northport, Eastport, Westport, and Centreport schools. He read all the newspapers that he could lay his hands on, and, moreover, had the good fortune, of course, to be the son of his father--who had asked so many questions in his life that he could not help having imbibed a vast store of knowledge--and Billy had inherited some of his father's traits.

"Yes, I've got an idea," he repeated. "They're fitting out a Cuban expedition."

Why they should be fitting out a Cuban expedition twenty miles from the coast it might be hard to tell, but it sounded nice and adventurous. It was full of possibilities, and the idea struck Gibb at once as being almost worthy of "Old Sleuth, the Guessing Detective," of whose wondrous discernment he had read in a dime novel.

"Let's make believe we are spies," said Gibb, "and find out. Don't let's tell them in the village anything about it."

"All right," answered Billy. "Then get down on your hands and knees and crawl through the bushes."

No sooner said than done, and the boys crept into the thicket of scrub-oak. But the heavy fencing ran completely around the old Hope farm, and they could get no nearer to the house than when they had first sighted it, the distance of fully a quarter of a mile and more. They could see, however, that there were five or six men employed about the buildings, that three or four large wagons were drawn off to one side, and that an object that looked like a steam threshing-machine, and yet a little like a fire-engine, was under a sheltering tent made of canvas.

"I'll wager father could tell what that is," said Billy, pointing.

"But don't you tell him anything," said Gibb, "or you'll have half the village up here pokin' round. My father says your father is a knowin' feller, but he talks too much. I tell you what let's do, let's keep this thing secret."

Now Billy and Gibb had had secrets very often during the course of their acquaintance, but they had never succeeded in keeping them any length of time. But on this occasion they determined to make a compact, sacred and awful, and not to be betrayed, no matter what happened. So that night, after every one else had gone to bed, they drew up a fearful paper in red ink, with skulls and cross-bones, and added the pictures of an eagle, a locomotive, and an American flag as extra decorations.

As it rained all of the next day, they staid in the house, drawing up the plans of campaign, and were near to betraying themselves upon more than one occasion. Gibb proposed to let his uncle into the secret, under a bond of strict adherency to silence, but Billy, maybe because it is a wise child that knows its own father, refused to second the motion, and the conspirators remained two in number.

Everything was arranged for an early start on Saturday morning, in order to make it a day of reconnoitring. But, alas! Billy, who had been ailing, broke out with the measles. This was distressing enough; but as the elder cousin generally led in most things, Gibb felt it incumbent upon himself to follow suit, and three days later he wanted to wager that he was "rasher than Billy, anyhow."

This unforeseen postponement rather reduced the intensity of their curiosity; but when they were convalescing, after three weeks' close confinement, it was decided they must hasten, as rumors of the goings on at Hope farm had already reached the village, and Mr. Schreiber had expressed his intention of harnessing up and driving out that way some time in the near future.

"Our scheme's a goner if he gets there before we do," said William, upon hearing this--and at last a day came when they got away.

They were a little weak in the knees, and the six-mile tramp down the dusty road wore upon them. But at last they arrived at the barbed-wire fence that blocked the old driveway to the farm. Apparently there was nothing unusual going on, although a huge door had been cut in the front of the hay-barn, and through the roof of one of the smaller buildings a tall iron pipe extended, from which white feathery steam was spurting regularly, showing that machinery was at work within.

Through the orchard ran a long board walk, or so it appeared to the boys, at least. They skirted through the underbrush, seeking a place where a brook entered the Hope property, knowing that there they could find out something by closer observation. As they crossed a little path, a man stepped from behind a tree directly in front of them. So intent had been the boys on the idea that they were Spanish spies, that they had been communicating with one another in most unintelligible gibberish, and their first idea was that they must have betrayed themselves. But the man, who was dressed in a very citified fashion, appeared to be rather glad to see them.

"Halloa, boys!" he said. "Do you live here?"

They shook their heads.

"Well, do you know Professor Woerts?"

"Naw," said Gibb. "Who is he?"

The young man did not reply. "What's going on in there?" he asked. "Eh? Go on, tell us."

But Billy had learned something by this time in the question-asking line. "Who are you?" he put in.

"I'm a reporter for the Evening Detector, and have come here to find out what Professor Woerts is doing. Of course I know something about it, but he won't let any reporters on the premises."