Project Gutenberg's Dave Porter and the Runaways, by Edward Stratemeyer This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Dave Porter and the Runaways Last Days at Oak Hall Author: Edward Stratemeyer Illustrator: H. Richard Boehm Release Date: May 1, 2009 [EBook #28654] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAVE PORTER AND THE RUNAWAYS *** Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net HE SAW AN ARM AND A HEAD COME UP.—Page 240. Dave Porter Series DAVE PORTER AND THE RUNAWAYS OR LAST DAYS AT OAK HALL BY EDWARD STRATEMEYER Author of “Dave Porter at Oak Hall,” “The Lakeport Series,” “Old Glory Series,” “Pan-American Series,” etc. ILLUSTRATED BY H. RICHARD BOEHM BO S TO N LOTHROP LEE & SHEPARD CO. Published, March, 1913 COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. All Rights Reserved DAVE PORTER AND THE RUNAWAYS Norwood Press BERWICK & SMITH CO. Norwood, Mass. U.S.A. PREFACE “Dave Porter and the Runaways” is a complete story in itself, but forms the ninth volume of a line issued under the general title of “Dave Porter Series.” In the first volume of this series, entitled “Dave Porter at Oak Hall,” the reader was introduced to a typical American lad, and the particulars were given of his doings at an up-to-date boarding school. There was a cloud over Dave’s parentage, and in order to solve the mystery of his identity he took a long voyage over the ocean, as related in the second volume, called “Dave Porter in the South Seas.” Then he came back to his schoolmates, as told of in “Dave Porter’s Return to School,” and then took a long trip to Norway, to hunt up his father, the particulars of which are given in “Dave Porter in the Far North.” Having settled the matter of his identity to his satisfaction, our hero came back to Oak Hall and had a number of strenuous contests, related in detail in “Dave Porter and His Classmates.” Following this came the summer vacation, and the youth made a trip West, the happenings of which are set down in “Dave Porter at Star Ranch.” When Dave returned to Oak Hall once more he found the school rivalries as bitter as ever, and what these led to has been related in “Dave Porter and His Rivals.” His enemies tried hard to do our hero much injury, but he exposed them and they were forced to flee, to escape the consequences of their actions. The winter holidays found Dave homeward bound. He had anticipated some jolly times among his relatives and friends, but a robbery upset all his plans, and, almost before he knew it, he found himself bound southward, as related in “Dave Porter on Cave Island.” On the island he had many adventures out of the ordinary, and he came home more of a hero than ever, having saved Mr. Wadsworth, his benefactor, from ruin. In the present story Dave is back once again at school. There are some queer happenings, and then some lads run away. How Dave proved his common sense, and brought the runaways back, I leave for the pages which follow to tell. I trust the reading of this volume will do all my young friends good. Edward Stratemeyer. February 1, 1913. iii iv CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. Dave and His Chums 1 II. A Glimpse at the Past 11 III. A Talk of the Future 21 IV. Mr. Job Haskers’s Doings 31 V. At Oak Hall Once More 41 VI. Phil Shows His Stubbornness 52 VII. Phil and Ben Make a Move 62 VIII. An Unusual Compact 72 IX. The King of Sumatra 82 X. Nat Poole Wants to Know 91 XI. Bonfire Night at the Hall 101 XII. Plans for a Spread 111 XIII. The Cabin on the Island 121 XIV. The Bandanna Handkerchief 131 XV. At the Hotel 141 XVI. The Blowing up of the Bridge 151 XVII. A Serious Accusation 161 XVIII. The Meeting on the Road 171 XIX. Looking for the Runaways 181 XX. The Wild Man Again 190 XXI. Something of a Clew 200 XXII. After the Runaways 210 XXIII. At the Camp 220 XXIV. Out in the Storm 230 XXV. Perils of the Flood 239 XXVI. Back to the School 249 XXVII. The Trail Through the Woods 259 XXVIII. The Capture of the Wild Man 268 XXIX. A Bit of Evidence 278 XXX. The Exposure—Good-By to Oak Hall 287 DAVE PORTER AND THE RUNAWAYS CHAPTER I DAVE AND HIS CHUMS “I say, Dave, here’s an odd piece of news.” “An odd piece of news, Roger? What about?” “A wild man in the woods back of Oak Hall,” answered Roger Morr, who held a letter in his hand. “Queerest thing you ever heard of.” “I should say it was, if it’s about a wild man,” returned Dave Porter. “Who sent that letter?” “Shadow Hamilton.” “Maybe it’s another one of Shadow’s innumerable yarns,” suggested Dave, with a faint smile. “If he can’t tell them by word of mouth, he writes them down.” “What has Shadow got to say about the wild man?” asked Phil Lawrence, looking up from the suit-case he was packing. “Has he been trying to clean out Oak Hall, or anything like that?” 1 2 “No, not exactly,” returned Roger, turning back to the letter, which he had not yet finished. “He keeps in the woods, so Shadow says, and scares everybody who comes that way.” “How does he scare them?” asked Dave, pausing in the act of stowing a suit of clothing in a trunk. “Shadow writes that he and Lazy were out walking one day and the wild man came after them with a big club. He wears long hair and a long beard, and his clothes are in tatters.” “What did they do?” questioned Phil. “They ran back towards the school. The wild man followed ’em as far as the bridge over the brook, and then jumped into the bushes and disappeared.” “Humph!” muttered Phil. “Is that all?” “Oh, no! The day before that, Chip Macklin and two other of the smaller boys went out, along the river, and the wild man came after them and shoved Chip into the water. He yelled to them never to come near him again. The other fellows ran away, and as soon as Chip could get out of the water he went after ’em. Then, three days later, Doctor Clay sent out Mr. Dale and Horsehair, the driver, to look into the matter, and the wild man met them at the bridge and threw mud balls at ’em. One mud ball hit the teacher in the arm, and one struck Horsehair in the nose and made it bleed. Horsehair was afraid to go on, because the wild man jumped around and shouted so furiously. Mr. Dale tried to catch him, but he ran away.” “Poor chap! He must be crazy,” was Dave’s comment. “He ought to be taken care of by the authorities.” “Yes, but they can’t catch him,” continued Roger. “They have tried half a dozen ways, but he slips ’em every time.” “Who is he?” asked Dave, as he continued to pack his trunk. “Nobody has the least idea, so Shadow writes.” “Say, that will give us something to do—when we get back to Oak Hall!” cried Phil. “We’ll organize a posse to round up the wild man!” “I think we’ll have plenty of other things to do when we get to school, Phil,” remarked Dave. “Just remember that we have lost a lot of time from our lessons, and if we want to make up what we have missed, and graduate from Oak Hall with honor, we’ve got to buckle down and study.” “Oh, I know that,” answered Phil, and gave a little sigh. “Just the same, I’m going to have a try at the wild man—if he comes my way.” “So am I,” cried Roger. “And Dave will try with us; won’t you, old man?” And Roger caught his chum affectionately by the shoulder. “You are the fellow to solve mysteries!” Dave was about to answer when there came a knock on the bedroom door. He opened it to find himself confronted by a middle-aged lady, who was smiling but anxious. “How are you getting along, boys?” she asked. “First-rate, Mrs. Wadsworth,” answered Roger. “We’ll soon be finished now.” “Are the girls getting anxious?” questioned Dave. “Say, what do you think?” burst out Phil. “We are going back to Oak Hall to capture a wild man who––” “Phil!” burst out both Dave and Roger, and the other youth stopped short in confusion. “A wild man?” cried the lady of the house, in consternation. “Oh, Dave, I hope––” “Oh, don’t let him worry you, Mrs. Wadsworth,” responded Dave, quickly. “There is a wild man up there, but I don’t think he will bother us any, and we’ve got too much to do to hunt for him.” And the lad gave his chum a look that said as plainly as words: “What did you want to mention it for?” “Oh—I—er—I was only fooling,” stammered Phil. “Of course, if there is a wild man he won’t come near us. Tell the girls we’ll be ready in five minutes—at least I will,” he added, and resumed his packing. “Can I do anything for you?” asked the lady. “You might try to find my striped cap,” answered Dave. “I can’t seem to locate it.” “It is in the library—I saw it a while ago, Dave.” “And my baseball bat—the new one with the black handle.” “That is in the back hall, in a corner. How about your books?” “I’ve got all of them. Send Laura with the bat and cap, will you, please?” “Yes;” and Mrs. Wadsworth hurried off, anxious to be of all the assistance possible. “Say, that was a bad break for me,” murmured Phil, as the door closed, and before Dave or Roger could speak. “I didn’t want to worry her, Dave. I’m sorry I mentioned the wild man.” “And the man may be caught before we get back to Oak Hall,” said Roger. He crossed the room and peered into a 3 4 5 closet. “Has anybody seen my baseball shoes?” “You left those at the Hall, Roger,” answered Dave. “Did I? All right, then. I came away in such a hurry I can’t remember what I took and what I didn’t.” “I guess we’ve got about everything now,” resumed Dave, looking around the bedroom. He glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes to twelve. We are to have lunch at a quarter past, and start at one, sharp.” “Provided the auto is ready,” interposed Phil. “It will be—trust my Uncle Dunston for that,” answered Dave. “My, but isn’t it jolly to think we are going back to school in the auto instead of by train!” “Yes, and to think that the girls and your uncle are going with us!” added Roger. “Dave, look out for Roger, he’s got his eye on Laura!” said Phil, slyly. “Oh, you give us a rest, Phil Lawrence!” burst out Roger, growing red. “I guess you’ve got an eye on her yourself.” “Poor me! Poor me!” murmured Phil, as if talking to himself. “Roger will talk to nobody but Laura, and Dave will see and hear and think of nobody but Jessie, and I’ll be left in the cold! Oh, what a cruel world this is! If only—wow!” and Phil’s pretended musings came to a sudden end, as Dave shied a pair of rolled-up socks at him and Roger followed with a pillow. In another instant a mimic battle was on, with pillows and various articles of clothing for ammunition. Then came another knock on the door and Laura Porter appeared, with a baseball bat in one hand and her brother’s cap in the other. “Oh dear me!” she cried, and then stopped short, for a red sweater, thrown by Roger at Phil, had missed its aim and landed on her head. “I beg your pardon, Laura, really I do!” gasped Roger, as he sprang forward and took the sweater from its resting- place. “I—I didn’t mean that for you.” “Oh, Roger, of course you did!” cried Phil, with a twinkle in his eye. “That’s the way he salutes girls always, Laura.” “Is this the way you are packing up?” demanded Dave’s sister, with a little smile, while poor Roger grew redder than ever. “Oh, we were only waiting for you to bring my things, Laura,” answered her brother, coolly. “We’ll be ready in three minutes and a half by the factory whistles.” “Say, what is this I hear about a wild man?” continued Laura, as she sat down on a chair Roger shoved towards her. “You’ve made Mrs. Wadsworth and Jessie all excited over it.” “Oh, it isn’t anything,” burst out Phil, quickly. “I made a mistake even to mention it.” “She came down and told Jessie and me that she was afraid you’d have more trouble, when you got back to school. As if you haven’t had troubles enough already!” And Laura looked affectionately at her brother, and then at his chums. “Oh, this won’t amount to anything, Laura,” said Dave. “So tell Mrs. Wadsworth and Jessie not to worry about it.” “But I want to know what it means?” demanded the sister; and in the end Dave and his chums had to relate what they knew about the wild man. As they finished the girl shook her head doubtfully. “I don’t like that a bit,” she said. “I am sure you’ll get mixed up with that wild man somehow. Why, he might attack you and try to kill you!” “We’ll be on our guard—when we go near the woods,” answered Roger. “You had better not go alone,” insisted the girl. “We seldom travel alone,” said her brother. “Generally Roger, Phil, and I are together, and very often some of the other fellows are with us. But don’t you worry, Laura, and tell Jessie and her mother it will be all right.” “And there is another thing to be careful about, Dave,” went on Laura, as she prepared to leave. “What is that?” “Be careful of how you treat Nat Poole.” “Why, what do you mean?” cried Dave, and then he added quickly, as he saw that his sister had something on her mind: “What has happened now?” “I don’t know exactly, Dave. But I got word through Ben Basswood’s cousin that Nat had told Ben he wasn’t going to let you ride over him this term. I think Nat is jealous because you were so successful in that trip to Cave Island.” “Did you learn of anything Nat intended to do?” questioned Roger, curiously. “No, excepting that he said he wasn’t going to play second fiddle to your crowd any longer. He tried to get into a quarrel with Ben, but Ben would have nothing to do with him.” “Did Nat go back to the Hall when it opened?” asked Phil. 6 7 8 9 “Yes, the same day Ben went back.” “I am not afraid of Nat Poole,” declared Dave, stoutly. “He is a bully, always was, and I suppose he always will be. I tried to do him a favor the last time I saw him—but he doesn’t seem to have appreciated it.” “Laura!” called a musical voice, from the stair landing. “Coming, Jessie!” answered Laura. “Now you boys, hurry—lunch will be served in a few minutes;” and she left the room. “So Nat Poole wants to make more trouble, eh?” mused Dave, as he resumed packing. “What a chap he is! Why can’t he be decent and mind his own business?” “Because he isn’t that breed, that’s why,” answered Phil. “He hates to see another fellow become popular. Dave, you take my advice and watch him, when we get back to school.” “I’ll do it,” answered Dave, thoughtfully. CHAPTER II A GLIMPSE AT THE PAST “Everything ready?” “Yes, so far as I know.” “Then we are off! Good-by, everybody!” “Good-by! Take care of yourself, Dave!” “I will!” There was a tooting of an automobile horn, a chorus of cries and cheers, a waving of caps, and then the big touring car that had been drawn up in front of the Wadsworth mansion rolled from the piazza steps through the spacious grounds; and Dave Porter and his chums were once more on their way to boarding school. To those who have read the previous volumes of this line of stories Dave Porter will need no special introduction. For the benefit of new readers allow me to state that Dave was a wideawake American lad, now well along in his school years. When a small child our hero had been found one day, walking along the railroad tracks near the town of Crumville. He could tell nothing about himself, and as nobody came to claim him, he was taken to the local poorhouse, where he remained a number of years. Then he was bound out to a broken-down college professor named Caspar Potts, who was farming for his health. The professor did what he could for the lad, but soon got into difficulties with a mean money-lender named Aaron Poole, and would have lost his farm had it not been for something out of the ordinary happening. On the outskirts of the town lived a wealthy jewelry manufacturer, Oliver Wadsworth. Mr. Wadsworth had a daughter named Jessie, and one day, through an explosion of an automobile tank, the little miss was in danger of being burned to death, when Dave came to her assistance. This so pleased the Wadsworths that they came not only to the boy’s aid but also helped Caspar Potts. “The lad shall go to boarding school and get a good education,” said Oliver Wadsworth. And how Dave was sent off has already been related in the first book of this series, entitled “Dave Porter at Oak Hall.” At the school he made many warm friends, including Roger Morr, the son of a United States senator; Phil Lawrence, the offspring of a wealthy shipowner; Buster Beggs, who was fat as he was jolly, and Maurice, otherwise “Shadow” Hamilton, who would rather spin yarns than eat. He also made some enemies, not the least of whom were Gus Plum, a great bully, and Nat Poole, son of the money-lender already mentioned. Plum had since reformed, but Nat was as overbearing and dictatorial as ever. The great cloud resting over Dave in those days was the question of his identity, and when some of his enemies spoke of him as “that poorhouse nobody” he resolved to find out who he really was. Getting a strange clew, he set forth on his travels, as described in “Dave Porter in the South Seas,” where he found his uncle, Dunston Porter. Then he came back to Oak Hall, as told of in “Dave Porter’s Return to School,” and next went to the Land of the Midnight Sun, as set forth in “Dave Porter in the Far North,” where he was gladdened by a long-hoped-for meeting with his father. “They can’t say I’m a poorhouse nobody now,” he told himself, and went back to Oak Hall once again, as set forth in “Dave Porter and His Classmates.” Here he made more friends than ever, but he likewise made enemies, the most bitter of the latter being one Link Merwell, the son of a ranch-owner of the West. Merwell did his best to get Dave 10 11 12 13 into trouble, but in the end was exposed and had to leave the school. Vacation time was now at hand, and through Laura Porter, our hero’s newly-found sister, Dave and his chums were invited to visit some of Laura’s friends in the Far West. Laura Porter and Jessie Wadsworth went along; and what a grand time the young folks had can be realized by reading “Dave Porter at Star Ranch.” The boys went hunting and fishing, and learned to do some broncho-riding, and they likewise fell in with Link Merwell again and showed that bully up in his true colors. “Back to the grind now!” said Dave, after the vacation was over, and back he did go, to Oak Hall, as told of in “Dave Porter and His Rivals.” That term was a lively one, for some lads came there from another school, and they, led by Nat Poole, tried to run matters to suit themselves. But when the newcomers lost an important football contest, Oak Hall woke up to the true condition of affairs, and Dave and his chums quickly regained their places on the eleven, and then won a grand victory. During this time Link Merwell, in company with another bad boy named Nick Jasniff, became a student at Rockville Military Academy, a rival institution of learning. Both bullies did their best to make trouble for our hero, but, as before, he exposed them, and this time they had to flee to escape arrest. When the Christmas holidays came around Dave went back to Crumville, where he and his family and old Caspar Potts now lived with the Wadsworths. At that time Mr. Wadsworth had at his jewelry works some rare diamonds, waiting to be reset. Directly after Christmas came a startling robbery. The diamonds were gone, and it was learned by Dave that if they were not recovered, not only would Mr. Wadsworth be ruined, but that his own father and his uncle would be seriously crippled financially, as they had gone on a bond for the return of the gems. At first, clews to the robbers were scarce, but soon Dave made a queer discovery, and followed this up by another, as set forth in the volume preceding this, entitled, “Dave Porter on Cave Island.” He and his chums became satisfied that Link Merwell and Nick Jasniff had committed the theft, and they followed the evil pair, first to Florida and then to Cave Island, so named because of the numerous caverns it contained. The evil-doers were caught and the diamonds recovered, but, at the last moment, Link Merwell managed to escape. “Let him go,” said Dave. “He acts as if he wanted to turn over a new leaf.” “I am glad it wasn’t Jasniff,” returned Phil. “He is the worse of the pair.” “Right you are,” agreed Roger. The senator’s son and Phil had accompanied Dave to Crumville, and all had received a warm reception at the hands of those who were waiting for them. Mr. Wadsworth was delighted to get back the jewels, and thanked Dave over and over again for what he had done. Dave’s father and his uncle were also happy, and as for Laura, she had to hug her brother over and over again. Jessie wanted to hug him, too, but her maidenly modesty prevented this, but she gave Dave a look and a hand squeeze that meant a good deal, for our hero was her hero, too, and always had been. The boys knew they had to go back to Oak Hall, but the older folks had insisted that they rest up a bit, after their traveling. So they “rested” by going skating and sleigh-riding for the last time that season, taking the girls along. “I’ve got an idea,” said Dave’s uncle, one morning, after the snow had cleared away. “The roads are so fine just now, what is to prevent my taking you to Oak Hall in the touring car? We can make it in a day, I think.” “Grand!” shouted Dave. “Just the thing!” added Phil. “Couldn’t be better,” supplemented Roger. “You can ship your baggage on by express,” went on Dunston Porter, “and then we’ll have room enough to take Laura and Jessie, if they want to go along.” “Fine!” burst out Roger, so quickly that it made Phil wink, and then the senator’s son grew red. “Isn’t it all right?” he demanded. “Sure thing,” responded the shipowner’s son. The matter was talked over; and that night it was arranged that the two girls should go along on the trip, returning later to Crumville with Mr. Porter. Not to tire Laura and Jessie too much, it was decided to leave after lunch the next day, stopping over night at Ryeport, and finishing the trip to Oak Hall the morning following. “If only the good weather holds out,” said Roger, wistfully. And then he added suddenly: “Who is going to sit in front with your uncle, Dave?” “Why, you are, of course,” broke in Phil, with a grin. “Why—er—I––” stammered the senator’s son. “Now, Phil, you know you said you’d like that seat,” broke in Dave. “He’s only fooling you, Roger.” And then Roger looked quite satisfied, for, it might as well be confessed, Roger and Laura were very friendly and liked greatly to be in each other’s company. The senator’s son had a manly regard for Dave’s sister—the same kind of a feeling that our hero had for dear little Jessie. The trunks and suit-cases had been shipped off, and the big six-cylinder car—a new machine belonging to the Porters —had been brought around, with Dunston Porter at the wheel, for the old hunter and traveler had taken a strong liking 14 15 16 17 18 to autoing. The girls and boys had piled in, after much handshaking and some kisses, and now the car was rolling out of the grounds, leaving Mr. and Mrs. Wadsworth, Dave’s father, and old Caspar Potts standing on the piazza, waving the travelers adieu. “Take care of yourself, my boy!” shouted Mr. Porter. “I will, Dad!” called back Dave. “You take it easy till I get back,” he added, for he knew that his parent had been working hard of late. “I hate to see Dave go—he is so full of life and good cheer,” murmured Mrs. Wadsworth, with a sigh. “Best lad in the world,” added her husband. “Yes, yes! The very best!” came in a quavering voice from old Caspar Potts, and the tears stood in his glistening eyes. “I trust he comes through this year at Oak Hall all right,” resumed Mr. Porter, as, the automobile having disappeared, those left behind reentered the house. “He wishes to graduate, you know.” “Don’t you think he’ll come through?” asked the manufacturer, quickly. “I’m not sure about it. He has lost so much time—on that trip he and the others took—you know.” “That is true.” “Oh, Davy will come through, never fear!” cried Caspar Potts. “I know the lad. If he makes up his mind—well, it’s as good as done,” and he nodded his whitened head several times. To the old college professor who knew him so well, there was no youth quite so clever and manly as Dave Porter. In the meantime the big touring car was leaving Crumville rapidly behind. On the front seat, beside Mr. Porter, sat Phil, waving an Oak Hall banner and cracking all kinds of jokes. In the back were the two girls with Dave and Roger. All were well bundled up, for the air, though clear, was still cold. “Here is where we make fifty miles an hour!” cried the shipowner’s son, gayly. “Oh, Phil!” burst out Laura. “Fifty miles an hour! Uncle Dunston, don’t you dare––” “Phil is fooling,” interrupted her uncle. “That’s it—I made a mistake—we are to go at sixty miles an hour, just as soon as we pass the next chicken coop. We won’t dare do it before, for fear of blowing the coop over. We––” “Why not make it seventy-five miles while you are at it,” broke in Dave. “Nothing like going the limit.” And at this there was a general laugh. “There is a bad turn ahead,” said Dunston Porter, a minute later. “They have torn up part of the road around the hill. We’ll have to take it pretty slowly.” The touring car crept up the hill, past several heaps of dirt, and then started to come down on the other side. Here there was a sharp curve, with heavy bushes on both sides. Mr. Porter blew the horn loud and long, to warn anybody ahead that he was coming. “Look out!” yelled Phil, suddenly. But the warning was not necessary, for Dunston Porter saw the danger and so did the others. A horse and buggy were just ahead on the torn-up highway, going in the same direction as themselves. The horse was prancing and rearing and the driver was sawing at the lines in an effort to quiet the steed. It looked as if there might be a collision. CHAPTER III A TALK OF THE FUTURE The girls screamed and the boys uttered various cries and words of advice. Dave leaned forward, to jam on the hand- brake, but his uncle was ahead of him in the action. The foot-brake was already down, and from the rear wheels came a shrill squeaking, as the bands gripped the hubs. But the hill was a steep one and the big touring car, well laden, continued to move downward, although but slowly. “Keep over! Keep over to the right!” yelled Dunston Porter, to the driver of the buggy. But the man was fully as excited as his horse, and he continued to saw on the reins, until the turnout occupied the very center of the narrow and torn-up highway. It was a time of peril, and a man less used to critical moments than Dunston Porter might have lost his head completely. But this old traveler and hunter, who had faced grizzly bears in the West and lions in Africa, managed to 18 19 20 21 22 keep cool. He saw a chance to pass on the right of the turnout ahead, and like a flash he let go on the two brakes and turned on a little power. Forward bounded the big car, the right wheels on the very edge of a water-gully. The left mud-guards scraped the buggy, and the man driving it uttered a yell of fright. Then the touring car went on, to come to a halt at the bottom of the hill, a short distance away. “Hello!” exclaimed Dave, as he looked back at the turnout that had caused the trouble. “It’s Mr. Poole!” “You mean Nat’s father?” queried Phil. “Yes.” “Hi, you! What do you mean by running into me?” stormed the money-lender, savagely, as he presently managed to get his steed under control and came down beside the touring car. “What do you mean by blocking the road, Mr. Poole?” returned Dunston Porter, coldly. “I didn’t block the road!” “You certainly did. If we had run into you, it would have been your fault.” “Nonsense! You passed me on the wrong side.” “Because you didn’t give me room to pass on the other side.” “And your horn scared my horse.” “I don’t see how that is my fault. Your horse ought to be used to auto-horns by this time.” “You’ve scraped all the paint off my carriage, and I had it painted only last week,” went on the money-lender, warming up. “It’s an outrage how you auto fellows think you own the whole road!” “I won’t discuss the matter now, Mr. Poole,” answered Dunston Porter, stiffly. “I think it was your fault entirely. But if you think otherwise, come and see me when I get back from this trip, which will be in four days.” And without waiting for more words, Dave’s uncle started up the touring car, and Aaron Poole was soon left far behind. “If he isn’t a peach!” murmured Roger, slangily. “It’s easy to see where Nat gets his meanness from. He is simply a chip off the old block.” “He’s a pretty big chip,” returned Phil, dryly. “I don’t see how he can blame us,” said Dave. “We simply couldn’t pass him on the left. If we had tried, we’d have gone in the ditch sure. And the scraping we did to his buggy amounts to next to nothing.” “I am not afraid of what he’ll do,” said Dunston Porter. “A couple of dollars will fix up those scratches, and if he is so close-fisted I’ll foot the bill. But I’ll give him a piece of my mind for blocking the road.” “But his horse was frightened, Uncle Dunston,” said Laura. “A little, yes, but if Poole hadn’t got scared himself he might have drawn closer to the side of the road. I think he was more frightened than the horse.” “He certainly was,” declared Phil. “When we scraped the buggy his face got as white as chalk, and he almost dropped the lines.” “He’ll hate all of us worse than ever for this,” was Dave’s comment. “I am not afraid of him,” answered the uncle. On and on sped the big touring car, and soon the stirring incident on the road was, for the time being, forgotten. Crumville had been left far behind, and now they passed through one pretty village after another. On the broad, level stretches Dunston Porter allowed the boys to “spell” him at the wheel, for each knew how to run an automobile. “Twenty miles more to Ryeport!” cried Dave, as they came to a crossroads and read a signboard. “And it’s just half-past five,” added the senator’s son, consulting his watch. “We’ll get there in plenty of time to wash up and have a fine dinner.” “And, say, maybe we won’t do a thing to that table!” murmured Phil, smacking his lips. “Oh, you boys are always hungry,” was Jessie’s comment. “Well, you know, we’ve got to grow,” answered Phil, with a grin. “I think I’ll enjoy eating after such a long ride,” said Laura. “The fresh air certainly does give one an appetite.” “I think I’ll order bread and milk for all hands,” remarked Dunston Porter, with a sly smile. “Bread and milk!” murmured Jessie, in dismay. “Sure. It’s famous for your complexion.” “A juicy steak for mine!” cried Dave. “Steak, and vegetables, and salad, and pudding or pie.” “Well, I guess that will do for me, too,” said his uncle, simply. “You see, I suppose I’ll have to eat to keep you company,” and he smiled again. 23 24 25 “Uncle Dunston, what a tease you are!” murmured Laura. “Your appetite is just as good as that of any of the boys.” Dave was at the wheel, and he sent the touring car along the smooth highway at a speed of twenty miles an hour. He would have liked to drive faster, but his uncle would not permit this. “The law says twenty miles an hour, and I believe in obeying the law,” said Dunston Porter. “Besides, you can never tell what may happen, and it is best to have your car under control.” The truth of the latter remark was demonstrated less than five minutes later, when they came to another crossroads. Without warning of any kind, a racing car came rushing swiftly from one direction and a coach from the other. Dave could not cross ahead of the racing car, and the approach of the coach from the opposite direction cut him off from turning with the car. So all that was left to do was to jam on both brakes, which he did, and then, as the racing car shot past, he released the wheels and went on, just ahead of the coach. But it was a narrow escape all around, and the girls and Roger leaped to their feet in alarm. “Phew! see them streak along!” was Phil’s comment, gazing after the racing car, which was fast disappearing in a cloud of dust. “They ought to be arrested!” was Laura’s comment. “Why, we might have been smashed up!” “Good work, Davy!” cried Dunston Porter. “You did just the right thing.” “Even if that coach driver is shaking his fist at us, eh?” answered Dave, and he bobbed his head in the direction of the coach, which had hauled up but was now going on. “If you had been going a little faster it would have been all up with us,” said Phil, with a grave shake of his head. “Let me take the wheel now,” said Dunston Porter, quietly, and Dave slid out of the driving-seat willingly enough, for the excitement had left him somewhat limp. Half-past six found them in Ryeport, and a few minutes later they rolled up to the National Hotel, and the girls and boys got out, while Mr. Porter took the car around to the garage. They had sent word ahead for rooms, and all soon felt at home. The girls had a fine apartment on the second floor, front, with Dunston Porter next to them, and the three boys in a big room across the hallway. When the young people assembled in the dining-room, after brushing and washing up, a surprise awaited them. They had a table to themselves, ordered by Dunston Porter, and decorated with a big bouquet of roses and carnations. A full course dinner was served. “Oh, this is lovely!” cried Jessie, as she caught sight of the flowers. “Just grand, Uncle Dunston!” added Laura. And then she added, in a lower voice: “If there wasn’t such a crowd, I’d give you a big hug for this!” “And so would I,” added Jessie. “All right, that’s one you owe me, girls, remember that,” answered the old hunter and traveler. They spent over an hour at the table, enjoying the bountiful spread provided, and telling stories and jokes. The boys were in their element, and kept the girls laughing almost constantly. “We’ll be back to the grind day after to-morrow, so we had better make the best of it,” was the way Dave expressed himself. After the meal, Dunston Porter went out to give directions concerning the touring car, and Phil accompanied him. This left our hero and Roger alone with the two girls. They sought out the hotel parlor, which they found deserted, and Dave and Jessie walked to the far end, where there was an alcove, while Roger and Laura went to the piano. “Dave, won’t it be hard work to go back to the grind, as you call it?” questioned Jessie, as both stood looking out of the window. “In a way, yes, but it’s what a fellow has got to expect, Jessie,” he returned. “A chap can’t get an education without working for it.” “I trust you pass with high honors,” the girl went on, with a hopeful look into his face. “I’ll try my best. Of course, I’ve lost some time—going to Cave Island and all that. Maybe I’ll flunk.” “Oh, Dave, that would be—be––” Jessie could not go on. “As soon as I get back I’m going to buckle down, and get to be a regular greasy grind, as they call ’em. I’ve made up my mind to one thing I’m afraid the others won’t like.” “What’s that?” “I’m going to cut the baseball nine, if I can. It takes too much time from our studies.” “Won’t that be easy?” “I don’t know. I made quite a record, you know. Maybe the crowd will insist on it that I play. Of course, I don’t want to see Oak Hall lose any games. But I guess they’ll have players enough—with all the new students coming in.” 26 27 28 29 “And if you do graduate, Dave, what then?” asked Jessie, after a pause. This question had been on her mind a long time, but she had hesitated about asking it. “To tell the honest truth, Jessie, I don’t know,” answered Dave, very slowly. “I’ve thought and thought, but I can’t seem to hit the right thing. Your father and Professor Potts seem to think I ought to go to college, and I rather incline that way myself. But then I think of going to some technical institution, and of taking up civil engineering, or mining, or something like that. Uncle Dunston knew a young fellow who became a civil engineer and went to South America and laid out a railroad across the Andes Mountains, and he knew another young fellow who took up mining and made a big thing of a mine in Montana. That sort of thing appeals to me, and it appeals to Dad, too.” “But it would take you so far from home, Dave!” and Jessie caught hold of his arm as she spoke, as if afraid he was going to leave that minute. “I know it, but—er—but—would you care, Jessie?” he stammered. “Care? Of course, I’d care!” she replied, and suddenly began to blush. “We’d all care.” “But would you care very much?” he insisted, lowering his voice. “Because, if you would, I’d tell you something.” “What would you tell me?” she asked. “The young fellow who went to South America as a civil engineer took his wife with him.” “Oh, Dave!” and for the moment Jessie turned her head away. “If I went so far off, I’d want somebody with me, Jessie. A fellow would be awfully lonely otherwise.” “I—I suppose that would be so.” “If you thought enough of a fellow, would you go to South America, or Montana, or Africa with him?” And Dave looked Jessie full in the face. “I’d go to the end of the world with him,” she answered, with sudden boldness. Then Mr. Porter and Phil came back, and the conversation became general. CHAPTER IV MR. JOB HASKERS’S DOINGS “And now for Oak Hall!” It was Dave who uttered the words, the next morning, after a good night’s rest and an early breakfast. The big touring car had been brought around by Dunston Porter, and the young folks had climbed in and stowed away the limited baggage they carried. All felt in excellent spirits, and Dave was particularly gay. What Jessie had said the evening before, and the way she had said it, still hung in his mind. She was a splendid girl, and if it was in him to do it, he was going to make himself worthy of her. He was still young, so he did not dwell long over these things, but his regard for her was entirely proper, and likely to make him do his best in his endeavors. Phil had asked for permission to run the car for a while and took the wheel as soon as Ryeport was left behind. The shipowner’s son knew how to handle an automobile almost as well as any of them, but he had one fault, which was, that he did not steer out of the way of sharp stones and like things calculated to bring on punctures and blow-outs. “My, what a glorious morning!” exclaimed Laura, as they bowled along over the smooth roads. “Couldn’t be better,” answered Roger. “Wish we were going on all day!” he added. “So do I,” added Dave. They expected to reach Oakdale by noon, get dinner there, and then run up to the school. “Not too fast, Phil,” warned Mr. Porter, as the shipowner’s son “let her out a bit,” as he expressed it. “You don’t know what sort of a road you’ve got beyond the turn.” “We’ll soon be coming to some roads we know,” answered Phil. “Those we used to travel on our bicycles.” They passed through several towns and villages. Then they reached a crossroads, and here some men and a steam roller were at work, and the road was closed. One of the workmen motioned for them to take the road on the left. “Must be a road around,” said Dunston Porter. “It doesn’t look very good, but you can try it. Shall I take the wheel?” “Oh, I can run the car easily enough,” answered Phil. For half a mile they went on without trouble, through a rolling country where the scenery was very fine. Then they reached a point where the road was full of loose stones. 30 31 32 33 “Be careful!” cried Mr. Porter. They rolled on, past a pretty farmhouse and some barns. They were just on the point of making another turn when there came a sudden bang! from under the car, and the turnout swayed to one side of the road. Phil threw out the clutch and put on the brakes, and they came to a standstill. Then the driver shut off the engine. “What is the matter?” queried Jessie. “A blow-out, I guess,” answered Dave. “We’ll soon see.” Dunston Porter and the boys got down to the ground and made an examination. The shoe of the rear left wheel had been badly cut by the sharp stones and the inner tube had been blown out through the cut. “We’ll have to put on one of the other shoes,” said Mr. Porter. They carried two with them, besides half a dozen inner tubes. “All right, here is where we get to work!” cried Dave. “Somebody time us, please,” and he started in by getting off his coat and cuffs and donning a working jumper. His uncle quickly followed suit, while Phil and Roger got out the lifting- jack and some tools. The girls stood watching the proceedings for a while and then strolled back towards the farmhouse. The boys and Mr. Porter became so engrossed in putting on a new inner tube and a shoe that they did not notice their absence. The new shoe fitted the rim of the wheel rather tightly and they had all they could do to get it into place. “Phew! this is work and no mistake!” murmured Roger. “I wonder why they can’t get tires that won’t blow out or go down.” “Maybe some day they will have them,” answered Dunston Porter. “I reckon this is all my fault,” put in Phil, ruefully. “I must have gone over some extra sharp stone, and it cut like a knife.” “Oh, such accidents are liable to happen to anybody,” answered Dave. He looked at his watch. “Twenty-five minutes, and we haven’t blown it up yet! No record job this time.” “Thank fortune we’ve got a patent pump to do the pumping for us,” remarked his uncle. Pumping tires by hand he found a very disagreeable task. At last the shoe and tube were in place and the pump was set in motion. Dave watched the gauge, and when it was high enough he shut off the air. The tools were put away, and they were ready to go on again. “The girls went back to that farmhouse,” said the senator’s son, pointing to a small cottage. “Let us run back and pick them up, and wash our hands at the well.” Once in front of the house, Dunston Porter, who was at the wheel, sounded the horn. At the same time the boys made for the well, which stood between the house and one of the barns. “Maybe the girls went inside,” remarked Dave, as he looked in vain for them. “Must be somewhere around,” returned Phil. All washed up, using soap and towels carried in the car. Then Dave went to the door of the farmhouse and knocked. In answer to the summons Laura appeared. “Oh, Dave, come in!” she cried. “I want you to meet the lady here.” Wondering what his sister wanted, our hero stepped into the sitting-room, which was small and plainly but neatly furnished. In a rocking-chair sat an elderly woman, pale and careworn. “Mrs. Breen, this is my brother,” said Laura. “And these are his school chums,” she added, nodding towards Phil and Roger. “How do you do, boys?” said the woman, in a thin, trembling voice. “We just told her we were bound for Oak Hall,” said Jessie, who was also present. “And she says she knows somebody there.” “She knows Mr. Job Haskers,” finished Laura. “Mr. Haskers!” repeated Dave, mentioning the name of one of the teachers—a dictatorial individual nobody liked, and who was allowed to keep his position mainly because of his abilities as an instructor. The chums had had more than one dispute with Job Haskers, and all wished that he would leave the school. “Yes, yes, I know him,” answered Mrs. Breen, nodding her head gravely and thoughtfully. “He is a great scholar—a very great scholar,” and she nodded again. She was not well and her mind did not appear to be overly bright. She lived alone in the cottage, a neighboring farmer taking care of her few acres of ground for her. “Dave, come here,” whispered Laura, and led her brother to a corner of the room. “Mrs. Breen tells me that Mr. Haskers owes her money—that he used to board with her and that he borrowed some—and she says he writes that he can’t pay her because he gets so little salary, and that sometimes he has to wait a long while himself.” 34 35 36 “How much is it?” asked Dave, with interest. He remembered how close-fisted Job Haskers had been on more than one occasion. “Nearly two hundred dollars, so she says.” “He ought to be able to pay that, Laura. I think he gets a fair salary—in fact, I am sure of it—and I am also pretty sure that Doctor Clay doesn’t keep him waiting for his money.” “It is too bad! She looks so helpless and so much in need,” murmured the girl. “I’ll find out about this,” answered Dave. He sat down, as did the others, and soon had the elderly lady telling her story in detail. It was not very long. Job Haskers had boarded with her one summer, just before obtaining his position at Oak Hall, and he owed her sixty dollars for this. During the time he had spent with her he had spoken of a school-book he was going to publish that would bring him in much money, and she had loaned him a hundred and twenty-five dollars for this. But she had never seen the school-book, nor had he ever paid back a cent. His plea, when she had written to him, had been that his pay was poor and that he had to wait a long time to get money, and that his publishers had not yet gotten around to selling his book. “I never heard of any book he got out,” said Roger. “And I think I would hear if there was such a book.” “That’s so,” added Phil. “Old Haskers would be so proud of it he would want everybody to know.” “It is certainly a shame he doesn’t pay this lady, if he has the money,” was Dunston Porter’s comment. “Did he give you a note?” he asked of Mrs. Breen. “He wrote out some kind of a paper and was going to give it to me. But I never got it.” “He’s a swindler, that’s what he is!” murmured Phil, wrathfully. “It looks that way,” answered Dave, in an equally low tone. “He knows this lady is next to helpless and he intends to do her out of the money!” “He ought to be sued,” exclaimed Roger. “You have no note, or other writing about the money?” questioned Mr. Porter. “I have his letters,” answered the elderly lady. “They are in the bureau yonder.” And she pointed to an ancient chest of drawers. “Shall I get them?” asked Jessie, for she saw that it was a task for the old lady to move around. “If you will, my dear. I am so stiff it is hard to get up.” Both girls went to the chest of drawers and brought out a small box of letters. Mrs. Breen put on her glasses and fumbled them over and brought forth three communications which were, as the boys recognized, in Job Haskers’s well-known jerky handwriting. She passed them over to be read, and all present perused them with interest. The contents, however, were disappointing, especially to the boys and Dunston Porter, who had hoped to find something by which legally to hold the school-teacher. Not once did Job Haskers mention that he owed Mrs. Breen any money. He simply stated that he regretted he could do nothing for her, that times were hard, and that his income was limited and hard to get. He said as little as possible, and the tone of the communications showed that he hoped he would hear no more from the old lady who had done what she could to aid him. “I think this is the limit!” said Dave to his uncle. “Don’t you think he ought to be sued?” “I don’t know about suing him, Dave; but I think this ought to be put in a lawyer’s hands.” “He makes money enough to pay this lady,” said Phil. “Say, I’ve a good mind to give him a piece of my mind!” he added, hotly. “I’ll look into this when I come back this way,” said Dunston Porter, after a little more talk. “Perhaps I can get one of our lawyers to prod this Haskers a little, and also state the case to Doctor Clay.” “Oh, will you do that, Uncle Dunston?” cried Laura, brightening, for she, as well as all of the others, felt sorry for Mrs. Breen, who seemed so poor, old, and lonesome. “Yes, I’ll do it. And now we had better be on our way,—if we want to reach Oakdale by noon,” went on Mr. Porter. The boys went out, followed by Jessie. Laura lingered, to whisper something in her uncle’s ear. Dunston Porter nodded, and then Laura joined the others. “Mrs. Breen, I will be back in a day or two, to see you about this money affair,” said Mr. Porter, when he and the old lady were alone. “In the meantime, as you were so kind as to take the young ladies in while we were mending our machine, allow me to make you a little present,” and as he finished he placed a five-dollar bill in her lap. “Oh!” she cried, taking up the banknote. “Why, it’s five dollars! I—I can’t really take all that money!” “Oh, yes, you can,” said Mr. Porter, smiling. “Use it as you see fit, and remember that I’ll be back, and we’ll do what we can to get that money from Mr. Haskers.” 37 38 39 40 “You are very, very kind!” murmured the old lady, and tears stood in her eyes. The past winter had been a severe one for her, and she had had a hard struggle to get along. “Good-by!” shouted the girls and boys to her, and she waved her hand to them. Then the automobile started off once more, in the direction of Oakdale. CHAPTER V AT OAK HALL ONCE MORE “Hurrah! here we are at Oakdale at last!” “Old town looks natural, doesn’t it?” “So it does, Roger. See any of the fellows?” “Not yet, Dave. But we are sure to meet somebody, even if it is a school-day,” went on the senator’s son. “Uncle Dunston, let me take the auto around to the hotel,” said our hero. “I know the streets better than you do. We have to make several turns.” “All right, Dave,” was the ready answer, and Dunston Porter arose and allowed his nephew to crowd into the driver’s seat. The run to the town in the vicinity of which Oak Hall was located had been made without further incident. On the way the party had talked over Mrs. Breen’s affairs...