CHAPTER I
FUDGE IS INTERRUPTED
“‘Keys,’” murmured Fudge Shaw dreamily, “‘please’—‘knees’—‘breeze’—I’ve used that—‘pease’—‘sneeze’—Oh, piffle!” His inspired gaze returned to the tablet before him and he read aloud the lines inscribed thereon:
“O Beauteous Spring, thou art, I ween,
The best of all the Seasons,
Because you clothe the Earth with green
And for numerous other reasons.
“You make the birds sing in the trees,
The April breeze to blow,
The Sun to shine——”
“‘The Sun to shine——,’” he muttered raptly, “‘The Sun to shine’; ‘squeeze’—‘tease’—‘fleas’—— Gee, I wish I hadn’t tried to rhyme all the lines. Now, let’s see: ‘You make the birds——’”
“O Fudge! Fudge Shaw!”
Fudge raised his head and peered through the young leaves of the apple-tree in which he was perched, along the side yard to where, leaning over the fence, was a lad of about Fudge’s age. The visitor alternately directed his gaze toward the tree and the house, for it was Sunday afternoon and Perry Hull was doubtful of the propriety of hailing his friend in week-day manner.
“Hello, Perry, come on in!” called Fudge. And thereupon he detached the “Ode to Spring” from the tablet, hastily folded it and put it in his pocket. When Perry climbed the ladder which led to the platform some eight feet above the ground Fudge was in the act of closing a Latin book with a tired air.
“What are you doing?” asked Perry. He was a nice-looking chap of fifteen, with steady dark-brown eyes, hair a shade or two lighter and a capable and alert countenance. He swung himself lithely over the rail instead of crawling under, as was Fudge’s custom, and seated himself on the narrow bench beyond the books.
“Sort of studying,” answered Fudge, ostentatiously shoving the books further away and scowling distastefully at them. “Where have you been?”
“Just moseying around. Peach of a day, isn’t it?”
It was. It had rained until nearly dinner time, and grass and leaves were still beaded with moisture which an ardent April sun was doing its best to burn away. It was the first spring-like day in over a week of typical April weather during which Clearfield had remained under gray skies. Fudge assented to Perry’s observation, but it was to be seen that his thoughts were elsewhere. His lips moved soundlessly. Perry viewed him with surprise and curiosity, but before he could demand an explanation of his host’s abstraction Fudge burst forth triumphantly.
“‘B-b-bees!’” exclaimed Fudge. (Excitement always caused him to stammer, a fact which his friends were aware of and frequently made use of for their entertainment.) Perry involuntarily ducked his head and looked around.
“Where?” he asked apprehensively.
“Nowhere.” Fudge chuckled. “I was just th
