58
Two days after that, and while Dave was continuing his studies as diligently as ever, came word over the telephone from Clayton.
“Is this you, Dave Porter?” came over the wire.
“Yes,” answered our hero. “Who are you?”
“This is Nat Poole talking. I am up here in Clayton––in the First National Bank. You know my father got me a job here last week.”
“No, I didn’t know it, Nat. But I’m glad to hear you have something to do, and I hope you’ll make a success of it,” returned Dave promptly.
“I called you up to find out if you were in Clayton,” continued the son of the money lender. “I wanted to make sure of it.”
“Well, I’m not. I’m right here at home, Nat.”
“Then, in that case, I want to tell you that the fellow who looks like you is here.”
“Where do you mean––in the bank?”
“Well, he came in here to get a five-dollar bill changed. I happened to see him as he was going out and I called to him, thinking it was you. When I called he seemed to get scared, and he got out in a hurry. Then I happened to think about that fellow who looked like you, and I made up my mind I’d call you up.”
“How long ago since he was in the bank?” questioned Dave, eagerly.
59
“Not more than ten minutes ago. I tried to get you sooner but the wire was busy.”
“You haven’t any idea where he went?”
“No, except that he started down the side street next to the bank, which, as maybe you know, runs towards the river.”
“All right, Nat. Thank you very much for what you’ve told me. I want to locate that fellow if I possibly can. He is a swindler, and if you clap eyes on him again have him arrested,” added Dave; and this Nat Poole promised to do.
The news over the wire excited Dave not a little. Of the men of the household, only old Professor Potts was in, and he, of course, could not assist in the matter. Dave at once sought out Mrs. Wadsworth and told her of what he had heard.
“I think I’ll drive to Clayton and see if I can locate Porton,” he added. “Roger says he will go with me.”
“Do as you think best, Dave,” answered the lady of the house. “But do keep out of trouble! This Ward Porton may prove to be a dangerous character if you attempt to corner him.”
“I think Roger and I can manage him, if only we can find him,” returned the youth.
Once more the black horse and the cutter were brought into service, and the two youths made the best possible time on the snowy highway that60led through Coburntown to Clayton. Arriving there, they called at the bank and interviewed Nat Poole.
“If what you say about Porton is true he certainly must be a bad one––almost as bad as Merwell and Jasniff,” was the comment of the money lender’s son. “I certainly hope you spot him and bring him to book. That’s the way he went the last I saw of him,” he added, pointing down the side street.
Dave and Roger drove down the street looking to the right and the left for a possible sight of Ward Porton. But their search was doomed to disappointment for the moving-picture actor was nowhere to be seen.
“It’s a good deal like looking for a needle in a haystack,” was the comment of the senator’s son, after a full hour had been spent in the hunt.
They had left the sleigh and had walked around a number of mills and tenement houses which were situated in that locality.
“I’ve got an idea,” said Dave, as several children approached them. “I’m going to ask the youngsters if they’ve seen a young man who looks like me.”
The first boys and girls to whom the subject was broached shook their heads and declared they had seen nobody that resembled Dave. Then our hero and his chum passed on to other children,61and finally to some men working around a newly-constructed tenement.
“Why sure! I saw a young feller wot looked like you,” said a youth who was piling up some lumber. “He ast me fer a match. Say! he looked like he could have been your twin,” he added in wonder; and then continued suddenly: “Maybe youse is playin’ a trick on me, and it was youse got the match?”
“No, I never met you before,” answered Dave, quickly. “When did you meet the other fellow, and where? I am very anxious to locate him.”
“It was down on de bridge, about an hour ago. I was comin’ dis way, and he was goin’ de udder way.”
“Was he smoking a cigarette?” asked Roger.
“He had one o’ de coffin-nails in his hand and he lit up after I given him de match.”
“Did he say anything?” questioned our hero.
The carpenter’s helper scratched his head for a moment. “Sure he did! He ast me if it was putty good walkin’ to Bixter. I told him ‘putty fair,’ and den he went on and I came here.”
“Then he must have gone on to Bixter!” cried Roger. “How far is that from here?”
“About two miles and a half,” answered Dave. He turned to the carpenter’s helper. “Much obliged to you.”
“Dat’s all right. Say! but dat guy certainly62looks like you,” the carpenter’s helper added, with a grin.
“Come, we’ll follow him,” said Dave to his chum, and led the way on the run to where the horse was tied.
Soon they were in the cutter once more. Dave urged the black along at his best speed, and over the bridge they flew, and then along the road leading to the village of Bixter.
63CHAPTER VIIFACE TO FACE
“If you catch Porton, Dave, what will you do––turn him over to the authorities?”
“Yes, Roger.”
“Is Bixter much of a place?”
“Oh, no. There are but two stores and two churches and not over thirty or forty houses.”
“Then you may have some trouble in finding an officer. Probably the village doesn’t boast of anything more than a constable and a Justice of the Peace.”
“I am not worrying about that yet, Roger,” returned our hero, grimly. “We have got to catch Porton first.”
“Oh, I know that. But if he started for Bixter on foot we ought to be able to locate him. A stranger can’t go through such a small place without somebody’s noticing it.”
On and on trotted the horse, past many well-kept farms, and then through a small patch of timber land. Beyond the woods they crossed a frozen creek, and then made a turn to the northward. A short distance beyond they came in sight64of the first houses that went to make up the village of Bixter.
“Well, we’ve not seen anything of him yet,” remarked the senator’s son, as they slowed up and looked ahead and to both sides of the village street.
“No, and I don’t understand it,” returned Dave. “From what that carpenter’s helper said, I thought we should overtake him before we got to Bixter. Either he must have left this road, or else he must be some walker.”
“I don’t see where he could have gone if he left the road, Dave. All we passed were lanes leading to the farms, and a path through that wood. It isn’t likely he would take to the woods in this cold weather––not unless he was going hunting, and that chap back in Clayton didn’t say anything about his carrying a gun.”
With the horse in a walk, they passed down the village street and back again. As they did this they kept their eyes wide open, peering into the various yards and lanes that presented themselves.
“I’m afraid it’s no use unless he is in one of these houses or in one of the stores,” was Roger’s comment.
“I’ll ask at the stores,” returned Dave.
The inquiries he and his chum made were productive of no results so far as locating Ward65Porton was concerned. No one had seen or heard of the former moving picture actor.
“All the strangers we’ve seen to-day was a cigar drummer,” said one of the shopkeepers. “And he was a fat man and about forty years old.” The other storekeeper had had no strangers in his place.
Hardly knowing what to do next, Dave and Roger returned to the cutter.
“Maybe he went farther than this,” suggested Roger. “We might go on a mile or two and take a look.”
Now that they had come so far, Dave thought this a good idea, and so they passed on for a distance of nearly two miles beyond Bixter. Here the sleighing became poor, there being but few farmhouses in that vicinity.
“It’s no use,” said Dave, finally. “We’ll go back to Bixter, take another look around, and then return to Clayton and home.”
When they arrived once more at the village Dave suggested that he and his chum separate.
“There are a number of these lanes that lead to some back roads,” said Dave. “Perhaps if we tramp around on foot and ask some of the country folks living around here we may get on the track of the fellow we are after.”
The senator’s son was willing, and he was soon walking down a lane leading to the right while66Dave went off to the left. Presently Dave came to a barn where a farmer was mending some broken harness.
“Hello! Back again, are you?” cried the farmer, as he looked at Dave curiously. “What brought you? Why didn’t you stop when I called to you before?”
“I guess you’re just the man I want to see,” cried Dave, quickly. And then, as the farmer looked at him in increasing wonder, he added: “Did a young man who looks very much like me go past here to-day?”
“Look like you?” queried the farmer. “Why, it was you, wasn’t it?”
“No. It must have been a fellow who resembles me very closely. I am trying to catch him.”
“Well, I swan!” murmured the farmer, looking at Dave critically. “That other feller looked as much like you as could be. Wot is he––your twin brother?”
“I am thankful to say he is no relative of mine. He is a swindler, and that is why I would like to catch him. He has been getting goods in my name. If he went past here perhaps you can tell me where he has gone?”
“He walked past here less than fifteen minutes ago. He went down that lane, which is a short cut to the road to Barnett.”
67
“Barnett!” cried our hero. “That’s the railroad station up this way, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Then he must be heading for a railroad train!” exclaimed Dave, quickly. “How far is it from here?”
“Barnett is three miles by the road, but it’s less than a mile and a quarter by that short cut through Gerry’s Woods.”
“Then I’ll go after him by that short cut,” answered Dave. He thought for a moment. To hunt up Roger and get him to go along might take too long. He looked at the farmer. “Would you like to go with me? I’ll make it worth your while,” he continued.
“Sorry, but I can’t do it,” was the reply. “I’ve got to meet the man who buys my milk down town in about fifteen minutes. He’s a very particular customer, and if I should fail him he might get mad. So I can’t go.”
“All right, I’ll go after him alone,” answered our hero; and then continued: “If you are going down town, and you chance to see a friend of mine with my black horse and cutter, will you kindly tell him where I have gone?”
“Sure, I will;” and with this promise from the farmer Dave started on a swift walk along the short cut to Barnett which the other had pointed out.
68
Fortunately for the youth, to keep his feet warm while riding he had donned a heavy pair of rubbers, so that walking through the rather deep snow of the path leading through the back farms and through Gerry’s Woods was not as uncomfortable as it might otherwise have been. To be sure, he occasionally found himself floundering in snow that was over his shoetops, but when this happened he simply smiled grimly and made the best of it. When at Oak Hall he had often taken part in track athletics, cross-country running, and occasionally in a game of hare and hounds, and consequently his wind was good and he made rapid progress without becoming too much exhausted.
He was in the depth of the woods when, at a turn in the path, he saw a figure ahead of him. The individual wore a heavy overcoat and had a cap pulled well down over his ears and the back of his head.
“I may be mistaken, but that looks as if it might be Porton,” said Dave to himself. “However, I’ll soon know;” and he increased his speed so that he might catch up to the other walker.
As the ground was covered with snow our hero made but slight noise while he advanced, and as a consequence he drew quite close to the other individual before the latter was aware of his presence.
69
“Hi there!” called out Dave, when he was but a few feet behind. The fellow had stopped and turned around, and a single glance showed our hero that it was the youth he was seeking.
“Dave Porter!” muttered Ward Porton, as he recognized our hero. His manner showed that he was much astonished, as well as chagrined, at this unexpected meeting.
“You didn’t expect to meet me out here, did you?” remarked Dave, sharply, as he came up alongside the former moving-picture actor.
“Why––I––er––I––can’t––can’t say that I did,” returned Porton, lamely.
“You’ve been acting in a fine way, haven’t you, Porton?” went on Dave, angrily.
“Huh! What have I done?” Porton’s gaze was shifty. He did not dare to look our hero in the eyes.
“You know well enough what you’ve done, Porton––buying a whole lot of goods in my name.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t do any such thing!” was the blustering reply. The former moving-picture actor was recovering from his surprise.
“I can prove that you did; and I’m going to hold you responsible for it,” answered Dave, calmly.
“Look here, Porter, I don’t want any such70talk from you!” and now Ward Porton doubled up his fists and stuck out his chin. “I’ve stood all I am going to stand from you. I want you to leave me alone.”
“Porton, you can bluster all you please, but it won’t do you any good,” answered Dave, and his voice had a more positive ring to it than before. “You thought you could play this trick on me and get away with it, but I am going to show you it can’t be done. I am going to hand you over to the authorities and see that you go to jail.”
“If you think you can do that, Porter, you’ve got another guess coming. You clear out and let me alone or I’ll make it hot for you;” and Ward Porton shook his fist in Dave’s face.
The manner of the young man who had been obtaining goods in Dave’s name was so aggressive that many a youth would have been intimidated and inclined to withdraw. But that was not our hero’s way. He was righteously indignant, not only because of what the rascal before him had done, but also because of his present threat. Without more ado he seized hold of Porton’s upraised arm and backed the fellow against a tree.
He seized Porton’s upraised arm and backed the fellow against a tree.––Page 70.
He seized Porton’s upraised arm and backed the fellow against a tree.––Page 70.
“Now, you just listen to me,” he said sternly. “Your bluff and bluster won’t do you any good. I am going to hand you over to the authorities, and that is all there is to it. You’ve got to behave71yourself and stop threatening me, or I’ll give you something that you won’t want.”
“You imp, you! Let go of me!” roared Porton, and, bringing around his disengaged hand, he struck Dave a glancing blow on the chin.
If anything more was needed to arouse our hero’s just ire, this blow proved more than sufficient. As much anger as he had ever felt in his life surged up in Dave’s heart. He drew back, letting go his hold––and the next instant his fist shot out and landed straight on Ward Porton’s nose.
“Ouch!” spluttered the former moving-picture actor, and not without reason, for the stinging blow our hero had delivered not only hurt exceedingly, but also caused the blood to flow.
“Now will you behave yourself and come with me, or do you want some more?” demanded Dave.
“I’ll fix you for that! Just wait!” bellowed Porton; and then he made a savage rush at our hero.
The next instant they were locked in each other’s arms and swaying from side to side, each doing his utmost to gain the mastery.
72CHAPTER VIIITHE BASSWOOD FORTUNE
Over and over in the snow of the woods rolled Dave and Porton, first one being on top and then the other. Each was encumbered by his heavy overcoat and his gloves, so that to send in a decisive blow was practically impossible.
The former moving-picture actor fought desperately, for he had no desire to go to jail, and he realized that Dave meant to send him to such a place if he could possibly accomplish it.
Dave, on his part, was angered through and through, not only because of what Porton had done at the stores, but also because of the way the former moving-picture actor had threatened him.
The encounter had occurred at a spot where the trees were somewhat scattered and where rocks were numerous. As the two continued their struggle they sent the loose snow flying in all directions and often struck on some of the rocks.
At last Dave managed to get his opponent by the throat, and he forced Porton’s head backward73against a large stone. In the meantime, however, the rascal managed to double up one of his legs, and he gave Dave a shove in the stomach which sent him rolling over on his side.
“Now I’ll fix you!” panted Porton, and, releasing his right hand, he picked up a loose stone which their scuffle had exposed to view. The next instant he brought the stone up, hitting our hero on the side of the head. It was a furious blow, and for the moment Dave was stunned. He let go of the other’s throat, and as he did this Ward Porton arose to his feet.
“Now I guess you’ll let me alone!” he snarled; and aimed a vicious kick at Dave’s head. But the youth, even though somewhat bewildered, had sense enough left to dodge, and the blow landed on his shoulder.
Then Porton turned and dashed wildly along the woods path leading in the direction of Barnett.
It took our hero several seconds to collect himself sufficiently to arise. His ear was ringing from the contact with the stone, which fortunately had been a smooth one, and his shoulder also ached, even though the kick had been delivered through the padding of his overcoat.
He gazed along the path, and was just in time to see Porton disappearing around a bend.
If Dave had been thoroughly angry before, he was now even more so; and, shaking his head to74clear his brain, he started on a run after the fugitive. He reached the turn in the path to see Porton emerging from the woods and taking to the highway leading to the railroad depot.
“He must be running to catch a train,” thought our hero. “And if that is so I’ll have to hustle or he’ll get away.”
By the time Dave gained the highway leading to Barnett, Ward Porton had reached the vicinity of the first of the houses in the village. Here he paused to glance back, and, seeing his pursuer, shook his fist at Dave. Then he went on about fifty yards farther, suddenly turning into a lane between two of the houses.
“He’s afraid to go to the depot for fear I’ll get after him before a train comes in,” thought Dave. “Well, I’ll catch him anyway, unless he takes to the woods.”
What Dave had surmised was correct. Ward Porton had thought to get on a train that would stop at Barnett inside of the next ten minutes. Now, however, he realized that to go to the depot and hang around until the cars took their departure would probably mean capture.
“Confound the luck! How did he manage to get on my trail so quickly?” muttered the former moving-picture actor to himself. “Now I’ll have to lay low and do my best to sneak off to some other place. I wish it wasn’t so cold. When I75stop running I’ll be half frozen. But, anyway, I had the satisfaction of giving him one in the ear with that rock and another in the shoulder with my foot,” and he smiled grimly, as he placed his handkerchief to his bleeding nose.
By the time Dave reached the lane between the houses, Porton was nowhere in sight. There were a number of footprints in the snow, and following these Dave passed a barn and some cow-sheds. From this point a single pair of footprints led over a short field into the very woods where the encounter had taken place.
“He’s going to hide in the woods, sure enough,” reasoned our hero. “Or else maybe he’ll try to get back to Clayton, or Bixter.”
“Hi! What’s going on here?” cried a voice from the cow-shed, and a man showed himself, followed by two well-grown boys.
“I’m after a fellow who just ran across that field into the woods,” explained Dave, quickly. “He’s a thief. I want to catch him and have him locked up.”
“Oh, say! I thought I saw somebody,” exclaimed one of the boys. “I thought it might be Tom Jones goin’ huntin’.”
In as few words as possible Dave explained the situation to the farmer and his two sons, and they readily agreed to accompany him into the woods.
76
“But you’ll have a big job trying to locate that chap in those woods,” was the farmer’s comment. “The growth back here is very thick, and my boys have been lost in it more than once.”
“Huh! we always found our way out again,” grumbled the older of the sons, who did not like this statement on his parent’s part.
“Yes, Billy, but the woods are mighty thick,” returned his brother. “If that feller don’t look out he may get lost and get froze to death to-night, unless he knows enough to make a fire.”
It was easy enough to follow the footprints to the edge of the woods. But once there, the brushwood and rocks were so thick that to follow the marks one would have had to have the eyes of an expert trailer. Dave and the farmer, with the two boys, searched around for the best part of a quarter of an hour, but without success.
“He’s slipped you, I guess,” remarked the farmer, shaking his head. “I thought he would.”
“Are there any trails running through the woods in this vicinity?”
“The only trail I know of is the one running to Bixter. There is a woods road used by the lumbermen, but that is on the other side of the railroad tracks.”
The struggle with Ward Porton, followed by77the run, had put Dave into quite a perspiration, and in the depth of the woods he found it exceedingly cold.
“I’ll have to keep on the move or I may get a chill,” he told the others, after another look around. “I guess we had better give it up.”
“Goin’ to offer any reward for capturin’ that feller?” questioned the older of the two boys, when the four were on their way back to the cow-shed.
“Yes, I’ll give a reward,” answered our hero, promptly. “If any of you can catch him and have him held by the authorities I’ll give you ten dollars.”
“Wow! Me for the ten dollars!” cried the youth. “But say! how’ll I know that feller if I do find him?” he questioned suddenly.
“That’s right, Billy, you won’t want to hold the wrong man,” put in the father, with a grin. “If you did that, you might get into hot water,” and he chuckled.
“It will be easy to recognize him,” answered Dave. “Just take a good look at me. Well, unfortunately, that other fellow resembles me very closely. In fact, that’s the reason I want to catch him. That’s how he got those goods I said he had stolen. It’s virtually stealing to get goods in such an underhand manner.”
“All right, I’ll know the feller if he looks like78you,” said Billy. He turned to his younger brother. “Say, Paul, what do you say if we go into the woods later on and lay low for that feller? Maybe he’ll come out this way after he thinks the way is clear.”
“Sure, I’ll go with you,” declared Paul. “If we look around very carefully we may be able to pick up his tracks somewhere.”
It must be admitted that Dave felt much crestfallen when he bade good-bye to the farmer and his sons, after having left them his name and address.
The farmer had offered to drive him back to Bixter, but our hero had stated that he would rather walk and take the short cut through the woods. When he arrived at the village he found Roger wondering what had become of him.
“Well, did you catch Porton?” queried the senator’s son.
“I did and I didn’t,” answered Dave, with a grim sort of smile. And he related the particulars of what had occurred.
“Great hambones, Dave! you certainly have had an experience!” was Roger’s comment. “Let me look at that ear. I declare! it’s quite swollen. I hope it didn’t hurt anything inside,” he added anxiously.
“It rings and aches a little, Roger; but I don’t think it is seriously hurt.”
79
“How about your shoulder?”
“That feels a little sore, but that’s all. I’ll soon get over it.”
“And to think you got so close to capturing him and then he got away!” was the sad comment of the senator’s son. “It does beat all how slippery some of those rascals are.”
“I’m living in hope that those farmer boys will locate Porton,” said Dave. “I promised them a reward of ten dollars if they did so. That’s a lot of money for lads living around here.”
Now that he had rejoined Roger, and had gotten partly over the effects of his encounter with Porton, Dave was rather loath to give up the hunt. They managed to find a store where the proprietor occasionally furnished lunches, and there procured some sandwiches and hot chocolate. Then they drove to Barnett by the regular highway, and there took another look around for the missing evil-doer.
“The boys have gone down to the woods to look for him,” announced the farmer when Dave called on him once more. “If they learn anything I’ll let you know.”
That evening found Dave and Roger back in Crumville, where, of course, they had to relate the details of what had happened.
“Oh, Dave, you must be more careful!” cried80Jessie, after he had told of the encounter in the woods. “That wicked fellow might kill you!” and she shuddered.
“Yes indeed, you ought to be careful,” said Laura. “Why, he seems to be almost as bad as Merwell and Jasniff were!”
“So he is, Laura. And if I ever get the chance I’ll put him where they are––in prison,” answered the brother grimly.
As was to be expected, Dave was quite worked up over what had occurred, and that night he did not sleep very well. Both his father and his sister insisted that he go to a physician and have his ear examined.
“No damage done, so far as I can see,” said the doctor. “But you had better bathe it with witch-hazel and keep it warm for a day or two.”
The next day Dave settled down to his studies as well as he was able. He hoped that word might come in that Ward Porton had been captured, but in this he was disappointed.
“I think he’ll steer clear of this neighborhood, for a while at least,” was Mr. Porter’s comment.
“That’s just my idea,” added Dave’s Uncle Dunston. “He must know that a great many swindled storekeepers and other people are on the watch for him.”
Dave had not seen Ben Basswood for several days. On the following evening the son of the81real estate dealer came hurrying over to the Wadsworth mansion.
“We’ve got news about that Mr. Enos’s estate!” cried Ben, as soon as he met Dave and Roger. “It’s the queerest thing you ever heard of. Mother doesn’t know what to make of it, and I don’t know what to make of it, either.”
“Well, I hope it’s a valuable estate if it is coming to your father,” said the senator’s son.
“I don’t know whether it is valuable or not, and neither does father. He says in his telegram it is certainly worth several thousand dollars, and he doesn’t know but that it may be worth a hundred thousand dollars or more.”
“A hundred thousand dollars!” cried Laura, who had come in to hear what Ben had to tell. “Oh, Ben, that certainly is a fortune!”
“Well, what does it consist of?” queried Dave. “If it may be worth all the way from two or three thousand dollars to a hundred thousand or more, it must be mining stocks or something like that.”
“No, it isn’t in stocks or bonds or anything like that.”
“Then what in the world does the estate consist of?” questioned our hero.
“Miniatures,” answered Ben Basswood, simply.
82CHAPTER IXSOMETHING ABOUT MINIATURES
“Miniatures?” came from all of Ben Basswood’s listeners in a chorus.
“Do you mean those little paintings that are sometimes so valuable?” continued Laura.
“That’s it,” answered Ben. “I don’t know much about miniatures myself, but as soon as mother and I heard about this queer fortune of ours she asked the minister. You know he is quite interested in art, and he told her that most of these little miniatures, which are about the size of a silver dollar or a small saucer, are usually painted on ivory. Of course, some of them are not so valuable, but others, especially those painted by celebrated artists, are worth thousands of dollars.”
“And how many of these miniatures are there, Ben?” asked Roger, with increased curiosity.
“Father didn’t know exactly, but said they would number at least fifty, and maybe seventy-five.”
“I suppose they are paintings of celebrated individuals––kings,83queens, and like that?” was Dave’s comment.
“No, these miniatures, so father stated, are made up almost entirely of the great fighters of the world––army and navy men, lieutenant-generals, admirals, and officers like that.”
“Well, where in the world did this Mr. Enos get money enough to buy such things?” asked Jessie, who had followed Laura into the room.
“That’s the queer part of it,” answered the real-estate dealer’s son. “It seems, after Mr. Enos and my father gave up business and separated, Enos went South––first to Texas and then into Mexico. There he joined some men who were opening up a gold mine. These men struck it rich, and almost before he knew it Mr. Enos was worth quite a lot of money. He had never been very much of a business man––being wrapped up almost entirely in art––and so he did not know how to handle his money. He had always had a liking for miniatures, so my father stated, and he went in to gather this collection. He didn’t want any kings or queens or noted society women, or anything like that, but he did want every miniature ever painted of an army or a navy fighter. Of course, my father doesn’t know all the particulars yet, but he has learned that Mr. Enos put himself out a great deal to get hold of certain miniatures, hunting for them all over Europe84and also in this country. He even went down to South America to get miniatures of some of their heroes, and also picked up several in Mexico, and one or two in Texas.”
“His hobby must certainly have had a strong hold on him,” was Dave’s comment. “But still, that sort of thing isn’t unusual. I heard once of a postage-stamp collector who went all over the world collecting stamps, and finally gave up his last dollar for a rare stamp when he actually hadn’t enough to eat. Of course, he was a monomaniac on the subject of stamp collecting.”
“Well, my father has an idea that Mr. Enos must have been a little queer over his miniature collecting,” returned Ben. “But even so, the fact remains that he left his collection of miniatures behind him, and that they are now the property of my father.”
“And what is your father going to do with them?” questioned Roger.
“He doesn’t know yet. You see, the settling of the estate is in a very mixed-up condition. He is going to stay in Chicago for a week or so, and then he’ll probably bring the miniatures East with him and have some art expert place a valuation on them. After that I suppose he’ll offer the miniatures for sale to art galleries and rich collectors.”
This was about all Ben could tell concerning the85fortune left to his parent. The young folks talked the matter over for quite a while, and were presently joined by the older people, including Caspar Potts.
“Miniatures, eh?” said the genial old professor, beaming mildly on Ben. “Very curious! Very curious indeed! But some of them are wonderful works of art, and bring very good prices. I remember, when a young man, attending a sale of art works, and a miniature of one of the English nobility was knocked down for a very large sum, several thousand dollars if I remember rightly.”
“Well, it’s very fine to get hold of a fortune, no matter in what shape it is,” observed Mr. Wadsworth. “Just the same, Ben, I think your father would prefer to have it in good stocks and bonds,” and he smiled faintly.
“No doubt of that, sir,” was the prompt answer. “But, as you say, miniatures are much better than nothing. In fact, I’d rather take a fortune in soft soap than not get it at all,” and at this remark there was a general laugh.
“Oh, my gracious, Ben! what would you do with a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of soft soap?” queried Laura, slyly.
“Oh, I’d go around and smooth down all my friends and enemies with it,” the boy returned, and this caused another laugh.
86
Several more days passed, and during that time Dave and Roger continued to devote themselves to their studies. Mr. Ramsdell, the old civil engineer, was on hand to tutor the two youths, and he declared that they were making satisfactory progress, and that he thought they would pass the coming examinations without much trouble.
“I wish I felt as confident about it as Mr. Ramsdell does,” observed our hero to his chum one day.
“The same here, Dave,” returned Roger. “Every time I think of that examination I fairly shake in my shoes. Passing at Oak Hall wasn’t a patch to passing as a civil engineer.”
There had been another fall of snow, and now sleighing was even better than before. Jessie and Laura went out in company with their uncle, and on their return both showed some excitement.
“Oh, Dave––Roger––what do you think!” cried Laura. “I’ve got a letter from Belle Endicott, and she is coming on from Star Ranch to spend several weeks with me, and she is going to bring along one of her old school chums, Cora Dartmore. What do you think of that? Won’t it be fine?”
“It certainly will be, Laura,” answered her brother. “When do you expect them to arrive?”
87
“They are coming on immediately; so I suppose they’ll be here in a day or two if they are following this letter.” Laura looked inquiringly at Dave. “What a pity Phil Lawrence isn’t here,” she half whispered.
Both of them knew that during the visit of the young folks to the Endicott ranch the shipowner’s son and Belle Endicott had become exceedingly friendly.
“Well, I’ve invited Phil to come here,” answered Dave. “I guess all I’ve got to do is to mention Belle to him and he’ll be on the way without delay.”
“Then, by all means, send him word,” returned the sister. “Then we can make up a fine little party, for we can pair Cora Dartmore off with Ben.”
A letter from Dave to Phil Lawrence was dispatched that evening, and the next day came a telegram from the shipowner’s son stating that he would come on that night.
“I knew the mention of Belle would fetch Phil,” remarked Dave to Roger, when they were alone. “Phil certainly has got an eye on that girl.”
“Well, you can’t blame him, Dave. Belle Endicott is a splendid girl and comes from a splendid family. I’ll never forget how royally they treated us when we were at Star Ranch.”
88
“Yes, we certainly did have one grand time, in spite of what Link Merwell did to annoy us.”
“Oh, drop Link Merwell!” Roger paused for a moment and then went on: “Isn’t it queer, Dave, how just as soon as you get rid of one bad egg like Merwell another bobs up like this Ward Porton?”
“It is queer, Roger.” Dave heaved a deep sigh. “I wish I could get on the track of that rascal.”
“Haven’t heard a thing, have you?”
“No.”
“Well, you can be thankful that he hasn’t been around buying more goods in your name.”
“Oh, I think I scared him pretty well when I met him in the woods. He’ll probably lay low for a while––at least until he thinks the field is clear again. But I’d give a good deal if I never saw or heard of him again,” and Dave heaved another sigh.
The next day the local paper came out with a big article on the front page speaking about the Basswood fortune. Mr. Basswood had returned to town, and had been interviewed by a reporter, and the sheet gave many of the particulars regarding the wonderful miniatures left by Mr. Enos. According to the paper they numbered sixty-eight all told, and were worth from a hundred dollars to five thousand dollars apiece. It was said that89they had been placed in a safe deposit vault, being packed in several plush-lined cases.
The paper went on to state that Mr. Basswood thought something of bringing them to Crumville, where they might be judged by a committee of experts in order to ascertain their real value. The real-estate dealer was spoken of as a man well-known in the community, and the article concluded by stating that all the good people of Crumville and vicinity would undoubtedly congratulate him on his good fortune.
“They certainly piled it on a little thick,” was Dave’s comment, after he and Roger had read the article. “Just the same, I agree with the paper––the Basswoods richly deserve the fortune that has come to them.” Dave had not forgotten those days, now long gone by, when he had been a boy just out of the poorhouse living with Caspar Potts, and how Ben Basswood had been his one young friend during those trying times.
As luck would have it, all the young visitors bound for the Wadsworth mansion reached Crumville on the same train. Of course, the others went down to the depot to meet them, and there was a grand jollification lasting several minutes.
“My, Belle, how you have grown!” declared Laura, after the numerous kisses and handshakes90had come to an end. “Isn’t she growing tall, Dave?”
“She certainly is,” returned the brother. And what they said was true––Belle Endicott was now tall and willowy, and exceedingly pretty to look at,––so much so in fact, that Phil Lawrence could hardly take his eyes from her.
“It was mighty good of your folks to invite me down,” said the shipowner’s son, when the whole crowd was making its way over to where the Wadsworth automobile and sleigh were standing. “I appreciate it, I assure you.”
“Oh, my! you don’t suppose we could leave you out, Phil, with Belle here,” returned Dave, as he gave his chum a nudge in the ribs.
“Good for you, Dave!” Phil blushed a little, and then winked one eye. “How are matters going between you and Jessie?”
“Very well.”
“Glad to hear it. And I suppose Roger has that same old eagle eye of his on your sister Laura?”
“Well, you don’t find him talking very much to anybody else when Laura is around,” was Dave’s dry comment.
“Oh, we had a perfectly splendid journey!” cried Belle Endicott. “And wasn’t it the strangest thing that we should run into Phil at the91junction where we had to change cars to get here?”
“Must be some sort of mutual attraction,” cried Laura, mischievously. And then to hide any possible confusion she added quickly to Cora Dartmore: “I hope you enjoyed the trip also.”
“Yes, I had a splendid time,” answered the newcomer, a girl not quite so tall as Belle but almost equally good-looking. “You see, this is my first trip to the East. Oh, I know I am going to have a perfectly lovely time!” she added enthusiastically.
The young folks piled into the sleigh and automobile, and in a very short time arrived at the Wadsworth mansion. Here Mrs. Wadsworth was ready to receive the visitors, and her gracious manner made them feel at home immediately.
Phil, as was his custom, insisted on rooming with Roger and Dave, while Belle Endicott and her chum were made comfortable in a room next to those occupied by Jessie and Laura.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you boys,” said Mrs. Wadsworth, laughingly. “You always bunk in as thick as fleas.”
“We got used to that at Oak Hall,” returned Dave. “Besides that, the room is a large one with two single beds in it, and we can easily put in a cot;” and so it was settled.