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Updated: May 10, 2025
"You know pretty well, Dick, that you won't have to stay in camp alone," offered Dave. "Of course not," agreed Tom Reade. "We'll all stick. We'll hope that Fitsey won't come back. If he does, then we'll try to make him sorry that he returned." From the doorway of the log cabin Hen Dutcher was seen to be peering forth cautiously.
Two years ago, when the New York legislature refused to repeal the Dutcher law, the Millinery Association asserted, and brought a cloud of witnesses to Albany to prove, that the enforcement of the law would throw thousands of operatives out of employment. The law is in effect; and the aigrette business is dead in this state. Have any operatives starved, or been thrown out of employment?
"Say, are you fellows going to freeze me to death?" called Hen Dutcher, his teeth chattering. He was facing the fire, roasting in front, but with chills running down his spine. "Close the door, fellows. We can't see much to-night at any rate, and we'll see the whole storm in the morning," proposed Dick. "We don't want to see Hen freeze to death." "Nobody invited him here!"
Did I ever make any claim to being musical?" "You see," hinted Greg Holmes, "the trouble with the Dutcher kid is that he's all ivory, from his collar-button up." Another laugh greeted this assertion, but Hen only glared stupidly. "Ivory is all white, anyway," Hen muttered. "So am I." He swelled out his chest, did one or two fancy little things on skates, and tried to look important.
The Dutcher law has caused the plumage of wild birds almost wholly to disappear from the State of New York! We shall here point out the plain duty of each state; and then it will be up to them, individually, to decide whether they can stand the blood-test or not. A state or a nation can be ungentlemanly, unfair or mean, just the same as an individual.
There was a quick gathering of ne'er-do-weels, of tavern-haunters and gaping 'prentices, about him, and though their faces were strange and their manners rude, he made bold to ask if they knew such and such of his friends. "Nick Vedder? He's dead and gone these eighteen years." "Brom Dutcher? He joined the army and was killed at Stony Point." "Van Brummel?
He got the paper, drew out a pencil, and sat down to write, calling off the words as he wrote them: "To the home folks. We're all here at the cabin, snug as can be, with plenty of water, firewood and food, and having a jolly time. Don't worry about us. We're having a jolly time." "Tell 'em I'm here," begged Hen Dutcher. "My folks might like to know."
"Why, this is it's suicide, that's what it is!" "Yes?" Dick queried calmly, shaking off Hen's hold and going on with his task. "It certainly is," Dutcher maintained fearfully. "Why, with a shutter open, Fitsey can jump right through the window glass and be in here on top of us in a jiffy. Please close the shutter." "Not much!"
"Now, we've got him!" chuckled Ben Alvord, racing in and reaching out for the luckless Dutcher. The unexpected happened. Hen swung around, as on a pivot, extending a foot in such a way as to trip Ben and send him down on his own face. In the gasp of astonishment that followed Hen got upon his feet, gave a swift push with his left skate and was away. "After him, fellows!" roared Toby Ross.
Please don't!" screamed Hen Dutcher, burrowing in under the massed overcoats. "Please spare me! I'll be a good fellow after this!" "Keep quiet!" ordered Tom, striding over to the bunk and giving Hen three or four vigorous prods. "If you don't we'll throw you outside!" "But it's just aw-aw-aw-awful!" chattered the terrified Hen. Truth to tell, none of the boys were feeling at his best, just then.
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