(Even these sometimes slow-witted boy sleuths quickly deduce the awful significance of the title object in their angry father's hand!)
"Gosh, Frank, do you really think Dad was serious about giving us a whiipping?"
Sixteen-year-old Joe Hardy's question, worriedly addressed to his brother, senior by a year, broke the silence both boys had maintained since being sent to their room a few minutes before by their furious father.
Fenton Hardy, a nationally-known detective, had only just returned from a long, difficult case to the comfortable Hardy home in the East Coast town of Bayport. He had almost immediately been presented with a bill for damages caused by his sons' reckless antics in their speedboat. Determined to be fair, Mr Hardy had summoned Frank and Joe to his study, where the boys attempted to defend their actions, claiming they were working on a case.
"Just as I thought," Mr Hardy wrathfully burst out, "another of your so-called cases! I've told you two time and time again not to tell clients you're functioning as my assistants while I'm away! Well. I warned you boys what I'd do if this happened again, didn't I?" He didn't wait for a response, which Frank and Joe were too fiightened to give, anyway. They were ordered to go upstairs to their bedroom and remain until their dad came to get them for their punishment.
The boys waited there anxiously now, each sitting on his own bed. Frank answered his brother's question, in a tone no less fretful.
"I don't know, Joe. He's awfully mad. He did promise us a whipping last time, and you know how he feels about keeping promises."
"Yeah, but, giving us a whipping downstairs? In front of Mom and Aunt Gertrude? With out clothes off?"
"I remember, I remember!" Frank jumped up from the bed and began pacing. "He said he hoped the embarrassment would teach us a lesson, but.."
"I don't think I can do it, Frank!"
"We'll have to, Joe, if Dad tell us!" He sat back down on his bed. "Maybe if he'd just make us pull down our pants. I don't suppose that would be too bad.." Joe reluctantly agreed. "No, I guess I could take Mom and Aunt Gertrude seeing.." he looked for the words, "..my bare butt." He cast his eyes dejectedly downward, then directly into his brother's. "But, Frank, if Dad makes us take off all our clothes, they'll see our - well, we'll be naked - right in front of them!" He blushed at the thought.
Frank nodded forlornly, and was about to commiserate further with his brother when their father thrust open the bedroom door.
The intimidating figure of Fenton Hardy stood on the threshold. Although he had evidently managed to get his anger somewhat under control, Frank and Joe knew that when he was in this mood, even a feeble protest could set him off into another rage.
One ominous detail especially caught the boys' notice. Their dad had changed his dress shirt for one with short sleeves, which would allow his arms to move freely and forcefully when swinging something, say, a leather belt.
"Well, boys, I don't have much to say. I promised you - in detail - what would happen the next time I had to punish you. You disobeyed me in spite of that warning, so now you'll have to suffer the consequences."
Mr Hardy gave each of his sons a look that dared them to utter a word. Neither did, and he continued. "I want you down in the living room in five minutes. Your mother, your Aunt Gertrude and I will be waiting. There you'll undress - completely." (He emphasized the last word). Then I'm going to give you both a whipping, and I promise, it's going to be quite a whipping. If that, along with the embarrassment you're going to feel, doesn't teach you a lesson, I don't know what will." He paused. "Five minutes, boys. And Frank - bring the belt."
As Mr Hardy was walking out, Joe made a rash appeal. "Dad! You can't really be serious about this? I mean making us take off all our clothes in front of Mom and Aunt Gertrude?"
"Fellas, I've been working down on the docks all day long. Do you know how many times somebody yelled at me, 'Hey, Hardy, you oughta give those boys of yours a good whipping!'?" Those words aren't exactly music to a father's ears. You've embarrassed me, now I'm going to embarrass you. So to answer your question, son: In just a few minutes you'll find out how serious I am." Mr Hardy left the boys' room, his last comment ringing in their ears.
The boys shifted uncomfortably on their beds for a few minutes, then Frank stood and said, "I better go get the belt." Joe gave a barely perceptible nod of agreement.
His brother returned momentarily their parents' bedroom, holding the much-feared strip of black leather. No thicker or wider than an ordinary belt, in a vaguely western style (but no studs, thought the boys with relief), in Frank's hand it appeared relatively unassuming. Somehow when their dad held it in his muscular grip, that same object took on formidable properties. Joe cringed at the very sight of it.
Perhaps it was a tribute to the efficacy of Mr Hardy's punishments that he had to apply them so infrequently. Frank and Joe vividly remembered their last whipping although it had occurred almost two years ago. Yes, their dad had made them pull down their pants and underpants, but they had done so in the privacy of their own bedroom. Obviously Mr Hardy's belt had left quite an impression on his sons' minds, much longer than the one it had made on their butts, although the latter had been quite lengthy.
Frank eyed his brother sympathetically. "I guess we better go downstairs, Joe."
The younger Hardy had to force himself to stand, and both boys began a slow progress toward the staircase.
They were so edgy that when the doorbell rang, both brothers jumped. "Who can that be?" Joe asked.
Downstairs, Mr Hardy opened the door and in walked stocky Chet Morton. The Hardys' best friend, although naturally timid, shared most of their adventures, includiing the recent one of the speedboat.
"Hi, Mr Hardy, are Frank and Joe home?"
Fenton clapped a hand on the plump boy's shoulder. "Yes, they are, Chet, but I'm about to give them a good whipping." Chet stopped short and uttered a low "Ohhh."
Mr Hardy continued, "Surely you can guess why?"
"Well, yes, I think so.."
The private detective gently maneuvered Chet toward the living room. "Why don't you stay and see Frank and Joe get their punishment, Chet? I want this to be as embarrassing as possible for the boys, and I think your watching it will enhance their experience considerably!"
Frank and Joe were halfway down the stairs, and in view of the living room. They caught sight of their dad motioning Chet to a couch, just as Mr Hardy turned and spotted them.
"Here you are, fellas. We've been waitiing." Here he couldn't resist adding a little humor. "We couldn't start without you, you know."
The boys were already the unwilling center of attention. They noticed with dismay that the living room had been prepared for their arrival. No doubts remained in their minds that Mr Hardy intended this to be quite an event. The two sofas, on one of which sat Mrs and Ms Hardy, on the other Chet Morton, had been angled to face the empty middle of the room where Fenton Hardy now stood.
"I'll take that, son," he told Frank. This half-request, half-command brought the boys out of their temporary stupor, and they complete their descent. Frank handed the belt to his dad, who said, "You boys stand right here for the moment." Mr Hardy clasped the folded belt in his right hand, alternately slapping it against his left palm, and stroking it between his left thumb and forefinger. Frank and Joe almost gasped, because the width and thickness of the belt seemed to increase while their father held it, and his right hand and arm appeared to grow in stature.
The Hardy boys stook meekly in the center of their own living room. Their state of disgrace had stripped years from their demeanor. Frank and Joe appeared to be no more than rebuked little boys, hardly even would-be detectives. They shifted from one foot to the other, avoiding the gazes of the spectators. Mr Hardy seemed impassive, while his wife's face showed sympathy. Ms Hardy's expression contained something resembling superiority. Chet displayed no sympathy whatsoever for his buddies.
Aunt Gertrude, without removing her gaze from her nephews, said, "There's a fresh apple pie in the kitchen, Chet."
Chet beamed, but declined. "No thanks for now, Aunt Gertrude, but I'll have some after - well, later." He looked happily at Frank and Joe, then took a bag of potato chips from his pocket and began munching them.
Mr Hardy began walking toward the fireplace, which lay between the two sofas. Chet burst out, in a falsely naive manner that fooled no one, "Hey, you guys said your dad wasn't gonna do anything to you!"
Mr Hardy stopped short, whirled and glared at Frank and Joe. "Oh, did they?" He turned to the beaming, chubby boy. "Thank you, Chet. It's nice to learn how much my sons respect me." He gave the boys another reproachful look and resumed his course to the fireplace. The Hardy brothers thanked Chet with a series of angry and threatening, but silent gestures.
Leaning on the mantle, Mr Hardy began his final lecture.