“Our lawyer?” Brad asked, startled. “Do we have one?”
“The Scout organization has obtained the services of a very able attorney. We thought it best to employ counsel.”
“Then this accusation against us is really serious?” Brad questioned. The other Cubs, deeply worried, had gathered about in a tight, tense little group.
“Yes, it’s serious,” Mr. Hatfield admitted drawing a deep breath. “As I started to tell you, our lawyer and some of the Scout officials talked to the trustees.”
“Wouldn’t they listen to reason?” Red inquired.
“No. Several of the board members were inclined to accept our word that the Cubs wouldn’t and couldn’t have destroyed church property. Maxwell wouldn’t go along with the others. He’s determined to sue unless we pay for the damage.”
“Twenty thousand dollars,” Chips muttered. “Why, that old wreck of a place isn’t worth half that amount!”
“I’m afraid it is, Chips. However, a damage claim of twenty thousand is ridiculous. Mr. Maxwell himself recognizes that, for he has offered to settle for ten thousand if the organization pays within ten days.”
“We’ve refused,” Mr. Hatfield went on. “The next move is up to the trustees. All we can do is wait.”
Now that the Cub leader’s report had been made, the boys were in no mood for a long meeting. Brad took up a few matters concerning the Friday party, including the necessity for finding at least one ice cream freezer.
“Tomorrow is our last chance,” he told the Cubs. “Everyone get busy. Ask friends and neighbors and let’s see if we can’t find one.”
As Brad ended his little pep talk, the boys were startled to hear a loud pounding on the closed clubroom door.
Chub and Dan both jumped up to see who had rapped.
Dan reached the door first. No one was there. He thought though, that he heard a muffled snicker, and certainly he detected the sound of retreating footsteps. As he listened a moment, he noticed a folded piece of paper lying on the cement floor almost at his feet.
“What’s that?” Chub cried, seeing the paper at the same instant.
Dan picked it up. He unfolded the coarse, soiled sheet to discover a pencil-scrawled message.
“THE CUBS ARE SISSIES,” it read. “WE CAN LICK YOU IN BASKETBALL ANY OLD DAY. HOW ABOUT A GAME? THIS IS A CHALLENGE. LEAVE YOUR ANSWER IN A BOTTLE IN HAGERMAN’S ALLEY.”