"Snow, the detective, was there, and I whispered in his ear.
"'Say,' I says, 'do you realize that for the fust time since the robbery here's a lot of folks leavin' the house? How do you know but what--'
"He winked and nodded brisk. 'I'll attend to that,' he says.
"But he didn't have to. Parker spoke fust, and took the wind out of his sails.
"'Gentlemen,' says he, 'I don't know how the rest of you feel, but, as for me, I don't start without clear skirts. I suggest that Mr. Brown and Mr. Wingate here search each one of us, thoroughly. Who knows,' says he, laughin', 'but what I've got that precious stolen paper tucked inside my sweater? Ha! ha! Come on, fellers! I'll be first.'
"He tossed the ball into a chair and marched into the office, the rest of the players after him, takin' it as a big joke. And there the searchin' was done, and done thorough, 'cause Peter asked Mr. Snow to help, and he knew how. One thing was sure; Pa Gabe's agreement wa'n't hid about the persons of that football team.
Everybody laughed--that is, all but the old man and the detective.
Seemed to me that Snow was kind of disappointed, and I couldn't see why. 'Twa'n't likely any of THEM was thieves.
"Cap'n Parker picked up his football and started off for the launch. He'd got about ha'fway to the shore when Willie--who'd been stand-in' with the rest of the help, lookin' on--stepped for'ard pretty brisk and whispered in the ear of the Pinkerton man.
The detective jumped, sort of, and looked surprised and mighty interested.
"'By George!' says he. 'I never thought of that.' Then he run to the edge of the piazza and called.
"'Mr. Parker!' he sings out. 'Oh, Mr. Parker!'
"Parker was at the top of the little rise that slopes away down to the landin'. The rest of the eleven was scattered from the shore to the hotel steps. He turns, without stoppin', and answers.
"'What is it?' he sings out, kind of impatient.
"'There's just one thing we forgot to look at,' shouts Snow.
'Merely a matter of form, but just bring that-- Hey! Stop him!
Stop him!'
"For Parker, instead of comin' back, had turned and was leggin' it for the launch as fast as he could, and that was some.
"'Stop!' roars the Pinkerton man, jumpin' down the steps. 'Stop, or--'
"'Hold him, Jim!' screeched Parker, over his shoulder. One of the biggest men on the eleven--one of the three 'friends' who'd been so obligin' as to come down on purpose to play football--made a dive, caught the detective around the waist, and threw him flat.
"'Go on, Ed!' he shouts. 'I've got him, all right.'
"Ed--meanin' Parker--was goin' on, and goin' fast. All hands seemed to be frozen stiff, me and Jonadab and Peter T. included.
As for me, I couldn't make head nor tail of the doin's; things was comin' too quick for MY understandin'.
"But there was one on that piazza who wa'n't froze. Fur from it!
Willie, the poet waiter, made a jump, swung his long legs over the porch-rail, hit the ground, and took after that Parker man like a cat after a field mouse.
"Run! I never see such runnin'! He fairly flashed across that lawn and over the rise. Parker was almost to the landin'; two more jumps and he'd been aboard the launch. If he'd once got aboard, a turn of the switch and that electric craft would have had him out of danger in a shake. But them two jumps was two too many. Willie riz off the ground like a flyin' machine, turned his feet up and his head down, and lapped his arms around Parker's knees. Down the pair of 'em went 'Ker-wallop!' and the football flew out of Parker's arms.
"In an eyewink that poet was up, grabs the ball, and comes tearin' back toward us.
"'Stop him!' shrieks Parker from astern.
"'Head him off! Tackle him!' bellers the big chap who was hangin' onto the detective.
"They tell me that discipline and obeyin' orders is as much in football as 'tis aboard ship. If that's so, every one of the Old Home House eleven was onto their jobs. There was five men between Willie and the hotel, and they all bore down on him like bats on a June bug.
"'Get him!' howls Parker, racin' to help.
"'Down him!' chimes in big Jim, his knee in poor Snow's back.
"'Run, Bearse! Run!' whoops the Pinkerton man, liftin' his mouth out of the sand.
"He run--don't you worry about that! Likewise he dodged. One chap swooped at him, and he ducked under his arms. Another made a dive, and he jumped over him. The third one he pushed one side with his hand. 'Pushed!' did I say? 'Knocked' would be better, for the feller--the carpenter 'twas--went over and over like a barrel rollin' down hill. But there was two more left, and one of 'em was bound to have him.
"Then a window upstairs banged open.
"'Oh, Mr. Bearse!' screamed a voice--Grace Sterzer's voice. 'Don't let them get you!'
"We all heard her, in spite of the shoutin' and racket. Willie heard her, too. The two fellers, one at each side, was almost on him, when he stopped, looked up, jumped back, and, as cool as a rain barrel in January, he dropped that ball and kicked it.
"I can see that picture now, like a tableau at a church sociable.
The fellers that was runnin', the others on the ground, and that literary pie passer with his foot swung up to his chin.
"And the ball! It sailed up and up in a long curve, began to drop, passed over the piazza roof, and out of sight.
"'Lock your door, Miss Sterzer,' sung out Fred Bearse--'Willie' for short. 'Lock your door and keep that ball. I think your father's paper is inside it.'
"As sure as my name is Barzilla Wingate, he had kicked that football straight through the open window into old Gabe's room."
The depot master whooped and slapped his knee. Mr. Wingate grinned delightedly and continued:
