111CHAPTER XIIPLANS FOR A SPREAD
“That wild man?” exclaimed the senator’s son, stopping short to stare at Dave.
“Yes.”
“How do you make that out?”
“Because I think Nat is interested in the fellow, although just how I won’t pretend to say. But you’ll remember how excited he got when he found out that the wild man called himself the King of Sumatra.”
“Oh, I see. You think he knows the fellow and thought that the bonfire might attract him to the place.”
“Yes. I’ve heard it said that crazy folks were sometimes attracted by the sight of fire. Maybe Nat has heard the same and wants to see if it will work in the case of this man.”
“Shall we go back and see what happens?” suggested Roger.
Dave mused for a moment.
“Would it be just right to play the spy, Roger?”112
“Well, this isn’t playing the spy in the ordinary sense of the term, Dave. That wild man ought to be locked up.”
“But it may not be the wild man he is looking for.”
“Oh, let us go back a little while, anyway,” urged the senator’s son.
They retraced their steps until within fifty feet of the bonfire and then walked to the shelter of the hedge. They thought they had not been seen, but they were mistaken.
“Humph! so you think you are going to spy on me, after all!” cried a voice, and Nat Poole came towards them, with a deep frown on his face.
“It’s rather queer you are in the tree,” answered Roger, somewhat sharply.
“It’s my affair, not yours, Roger Morr!” roared the money-lender’s son. Then, without another word, he walked to the bonfire, kicked the blazing sticks into the river, and strode off in the direction of the Hall.
“He’s good and mad,” was Roger’s comment.
“And we didn’t learn anything, after all,” added our hero.
Dave and his chum rejoined the merry throng at the other bonfires. But the celebration in honor of the baseball victory was practically at an end, and a little later the students retired, to113skylark a little in the dormitories, and then settle down for the night.
A week passed, and Dave stuck to his studies as persistently as ever. During that time he sent off several letters, and received a number in return, including one from Jessie, which he treasured very highly and which he did not show to his chums.
“Here is news of Link Merwell,” said Luke Watson, one day, as he came along with a letter. “It’s from a friend of mine who knows Merwell. He says he saw Link in Quebec, Canada, at one of the little French hotels in the lower town.”
“What was Merwell doing?” questioned Dave, with interest.
“Nothing much, so my friend writes. He says Link was dressed in a blue suit and wore blue glasses, and he thought his hair was dyed.”
“Evidently doing what he could to disguise himself,” was Phil’s comment.
“My friend writes that he saw Merwell only one evening. The next day he was missing. He made inquiries and says he was at the hotel under the name of V. A. Smith, of Albany, New York.”
“He does not dare to travel around under his own name,” remarked Shadow. “Say, that puts me in mind of a story,” he went on, brightening up. “Once a chap changed his name, because––”114
“Say, cut it out,” interrupted Phil. “We want to hear about Merwell.”
“There isn’t any more to tell,” said Luke. “My friend tried to find out where he had gone but couldn’t.”
“He must be having a lonely time of it—trying to keep out of the hands of the law,” murmured Dave.
“And maybe he hasn’t much money,” said Buster. “His father may have shut down on him.”
Gus Plum listened to all this conversation without saying a word. But down in his heart the former bully of Oak Hall was glad that he had cut away from Merwell and Jasniff, and turned over a new leaf, and he resolved then and there that, come what might, he would never again turn aside from the path of right and honor.
“Say, why don’t you listen to my story?” pleaded Shadow, and then related a somewhat rambling tale of a man who had changed his name and, later on, lost some property because of it.
Another day slipped by and it was one of particular interest to Dave and Roger, for in the morning they made up the last of the back lessons imposed upon them by Job Haskers. They had done exceedingly well, but the harsh teacher gave them little credit. Phil and Ben had still three115days’ work, but Professor Haskers said nothing of this.
“He doesn’t dare,” declared the shipowner’s son.
“That’s right,” chuckled Ben. “We could give him a good black eye before this whole school if we wanted to.”
Dave had already finished up the back lessons for the other teachers, so he was now free to spend his time on what was ahead of him. He was as enthusiastic as ever to make a record for himself, and pitched in with a will, and his enthusiasm was caught by Roger, who also resolved to do his best.
“Whoop! hurrah! What do you think of this?” came from Phil, late one afternoon, after the mail had been distributed. “Somebody hold me down! I guess I’m going to fly! Or maybe I’m only dreaming!” And he began to caper around gayly.
“What is it all about, Phil?” asked Dave. “Hit your funny-bone?”
“Money, boys, money! That’s what it is about,” replied the shipowner’s son. “I’ve got five thousand dollars, all my own!”
“Five thousand dollars!” gasped Buster.
“All your own?” queried Gus Plum.
“Where did you get it?” asked another.
“Why, it’s this way,” answered Phil, when he116could calm down a little. “About two years ago a great-uncle of mine died, leaving considerable money. He was interested in various enterprises and his death brought on legal complications and some litigation. He left his money to a lot of heirs, including myself. My father and I never thought we’d get anything—thought the lawyers and courts would swallow it all. But now it seems that it has been settled, and yours truly gets five thousand dollars in cash.”
“When do you get it, Phil, right away?” asked Buster.
“Well,—er—I, of course, don’t get it until I am of age. It’s to go in the bank.”
“Oh!”
“Won’t you get any of it until then?” asked Shadow. “Your dad might let you have a little, just to celebrate––”
“That’s just it—just what he has done!” cried Phil. “I’ve got–– But wait,” cried the shipowner’s son, interrupting himself. “I’ll plan this thing out. You shall all be my guests later on,” he added, mysteriously.
“Will you give a spread?” asked Chip Macklin.
“Don’t ask questions, only wait,” returned Phil. And that was all he would say on the point, although he talked freely about his inheritance.
The next morning Phil and Ben were seen in117earnest conversation, and that afternoon the two boys left the school as soon as they could get away, bound on an errand to Oakdale.
“We ought to get a dandy spread for a dollar or a dollar and a half a head,” said Phil, as they hurried along. “And twelve at a dollar and a half will be only eighteen dollars.”
“The music will cost something,” said Ben.
“Yes, I’m counting on two pieces, a harp and a violin, for ten dollars. That’s the price Professor Smuller charges.”
The boys were bound for the Oakdale Union House, a new hotel which had just been opened by a man named Jason Sparr. It was a nice resort, without a bar, and catered to the better class of people, including the students at Oak Hall and at the Military Academy.
The boys found the hotel proprietor glad to see them, and willing to set any kind of a spread that they were able to pay for. Trade was not yet brisk, and Jason Sparr said he would do his best to serve them. He was a smooth, oily man, and a fellow who wanted all that was coming to him.
“I can set you an elegant table for eighteen dollars for twelve,” said he. “I’ll give you oysters, fish, two kinds of meat, several vegetables, salad, ice-cream, coffee, and also nuts, cake, olives, celery, and other fixings.”118
“That’s the talk!” cried Phil, enthusiastically. “Just make a nice spread of it, and you can have all our trade in the future.”
“You’ll be well pleased,” answered Jason Sparr.
“Can we have a private dining-room?”
“To be sure—the blue room over yonder,” and the hotel man showed the boys the apartment.
“I want some flowers, too,” said Phil. “You can put two dollars’ worth of roses on the table.”
“Very well—that will make an even twenty dollars.”
“When do you want me to pay?”
“Such spreads are usually paid for in advance,” answered Jason Sparr, shrewdly. He did not intend to take any chances with schoolboys.
“All right, here is your money,” answered the shipowner’s son, and brought forth one of the two crisp twenty-dollar bills his father had mailed to him, with the good news of his fortune.
“Tell him about the music,” suggested Ben.
“Oh, yes, I thought I’d have Professor Smuller furnish some music—harp and violin.”
“Fine! They can sit in the alcove, and we’ll put some of our palms around them,” returned Jason Sparr.
“Remember, this is for next Saturday night, seven o’clock sharp,” said Phil.119
“I’ve got it down,” returned the hotel proprietor, as he wrote in his book.
“And don’t say anything to anybody about it. I want to surprise my friends.”
“Very well, mum’s the word,” and the hotel man looked very wise and knowing.
Leaving the place, Phil and Ben sought out the home of Professor Smuller, a violinist, who, with a friend who played the harp, often furnished music for dances and other occasions.
“Yes, yes, I can furnish music,” said the violinist. “Just tell me what you want.” Business was slow and he was glad to get any sort of an engagement.
The matter was explained, and the professor promised to be on hand and bring the harpist with him. He said he could play anything the students desired, including the well-known school songs. He would fill the engagement for the boys for eight dollars, although his regular price was ten. But he would have to have cash in advance.
Again Phil paid out his money, and then, the business concluded, he and Ben left the professor’s home and hurried along the road leading to Oak Hall.
“Have you made up your list yet?” asked Ben, when nearing the school.
“Not quite. I’ll have Dave and Roger and Shadow and Buster, of course. I’ll have to leave120out some fellows, but that can’t be helped. I can’t afford a spread for the whole school.”
“Of course you can’t.”
“I think I’ll have Luke and Sam, and maybe Gus and Chip.”
As the boys drew closer to the school Ben had to stop to fix his shoe. Both sat down on some rocks, at a turn in the road. They were about to go on again when somebody made the turn of the road, coming from the town. It was Nat Poole.
“Hello! you been to town?” cried Ben, good-naturedly.
“Yes,” answered the money-lender’s son. “Haven’t I a right to go if I want to?” he added, and then hurried on ahead of them.
“Rather peppery,” mused Ben. “Say, Phil, there is one fellow you won’t invite, and I know it.”
“Right you are, Ben,” was the ready answer. “All I ask of Nat Poole is, that he leave me alone.”
But Nat was not to leave Phil alone, as events were quickly to prove.
121CHAPTER XIIITHE CABIN ON THE ISLAND
“Dave, come on out for a row. You haven’t been on the river this year.”
It was Gus Plum who spoke. He was out in one of the craft belonging to Oak Hall, and hailed our hero as the latter was strolling along the river-bank.
“All right, Gus!” Dave cried, cheerily. “I don’t know but that a try at the oars will do me good, after the hard studying I’ve been doing.”
“You are bound to get a high-water mark this term, aren’t you?” went on Gus Plum, as he brought the rowboat up to the dock, so that Dave might get in.
“I’d like to graduate with honor, yes.”
“What are you going to do after you leave here, Dave?” went on the big youth, as the two rowed up the river.
“I don’t know yet. Have you made up your mind?”
“Oh, I think I’ll go into business, but I am not sure.”122
“You won’t try for college?”
“No. You see, I don’t make much of a fist at learning, so what’s the use? But I love business—buying and selling things.”
The two boys continued at the oars until the vicinity of Oak Hall was left far behind.
“If we only had a power-boat we might run up to Squirrel Island,” remarked Gus.
“Perhaps Nat Poole will lend you his motor-boat,” suggested our hero, with a little grin.
“Humph! I’d not ask him,” returned the big youth, promptly. “I am done with Nat Poole. I want to stick to my new friends.” And the former bully of the school fairly beamed on Dave, who had done so much to make him reform.
“Have you seen the motor-boat this season, Gus?”
“Yes, Nat got it out two days ago. I think he is on the river now.”
The boys rowed on, until they came to a bend where there was something of a cove. As they rounded the point they heard the steady put-put! of a gasoline engine not far off.
“There is Nat’s craft now!” cried our hero, and pointed ahead.
“He’s all alone,” was Plum’s comment. “He can’t have many friends these days, or he’d have some of them along.”123
“I’d hate to be without friends, Gus, shouldn’t you?”
“Yes, indeed! But it’s Nat’s own fault. If he’d only drop his important airs and be more sociable, he’d get along all right.”
On and on rowed the two students. It was a clear, balmy day, and they hated to return to the school until it was absolutely necessary.
“Let us row around Smith Island,” suggested our hero, mentioning a small place in the middle of the stream, so named after a farmer who owned it. It was a rocky and somewhat barren spot, and seldom visited by anybody but fishermen.
“All right, but we want to beware of the rocks,” cautioned the big youth.
The rowboat was headed up the stream, and soon they came in sight of the island. On one side were a number of bushes, overhanging the river.
“Hello! look there!” cried Dave, a few minutes later, and pointed to the bushes.
“What do you see?”
“A motor-boat. I think it is Nat Poole’s.”
“Is that so? What brought him here?” questioned Gus, with interest.
“I am sure I don’t know. But it’s his boat, I am sure of that,” went on Dave, after another look at the craft.124
“See anything of Nat?”
“No, the boat is empty.”
“Let us row in a little closer and see what he is doing,” suggested Gus.
“He’ll say we were spying on him.”
“Humph! Haven’t we as much right as he has to visit the island?”
“Of course.”
“Then what is the use of keeping away? He may be waiting to play some trick, or something like that.”
“Oh, I think not, Gus. Probably he just visited the island out of curiosity. But I’ll go in if you say so.”
Slowly, so as to avoid the many rocks in that vicinity, the two students brought the rowboat close up to the motor-craft. They looked into the bushes and along the rocks beyond, but saw nothing of Nat.
“Shall we call to him?” asked Gus.
“What for? I don’t want to see him.”
“Neither do I. His boat is tied good and fast. He must expect to stay on the island quite a while.”
The two boys rowed on, past the motor-boat. Then, as they turned a point of rocks, Dave gave a start.
“Well, of all things!”
“What is it, Dave?”125
“Look yonder—in between those bushes!”
“Why, it’s a rowboat.”
“Exactly, Gus, and do you see how it is painted, drab with blue stripes?”
“Of course—a pretty ugly boat, I think.”
“Gus, that is the very rowboat used by that wild man—the one he was in when he got away from us that day!”
“Do you really mean it?” gasped the big boy, staring hard at the craft.
“I certainly do—I’d know that boat in a hundred. I never saw another just like it.”
“If that’s the case, maybe the wild man is on the island!”
“Just what I was thinking,” answered Dave. “And I was thinking, too, that––” He stopped short.
“What?”
“Don’t you remember how Nat was so anxious to know all about the wild man? And how upset he seemed to be when he heard that the fellow called himself the King of Sumatra?”
“Yes, I remember that. Do you think he came here to find the man?” demanded Gus, quickly.
“It looks so to me.”
“My gracious, Dave, I think you are right! Say, there is something mysterious about all this!” cried Gus.126
“Exactly.”
“Let us go ashore by all means and see what Nat is up to,” urged the big youth.
Dave was more than willing, now that he had discovered the rowboat used by the wild man. Perhaps this island was the home of that mysterious individual. If so, what was the money-lender’s son doing there? Had he business with the strange creature?
“Maybe we’d better not make any noise,” suggested Gus, as the boat was turned in to a convenient landing-place. To this Dave did not reply, but they landed as silently as possible. Then the rowboat was hauled up out of sight between the bushes.
From the craft used by the wild man a rude path ran up from the shore to the rocks beyond. A short distance from the shore the boys saw the marks of a wet foot, coming from the direction where lay the motor-boat.
“That was made by Nat—he got his left foot wet,” said Gus.
“I think so myself,” answered our hero.
They followed the marks left by the wet foot over the rocks. They headed for the upper end of the island, where there was a small grove of straggly cedar trees. Here the marks faded away completely.
“Well, we know he came this way, anyhow,”127remarked Gus. “He can’t be very far off, for the island isn’t very big.”
“I see a rude log cabin!” exclaimed Dave, and pointed through the cedars. “Maybe that is where the wild man lives.”
“If it is, we want to go slow, Dave. He may attack us.”
“But what of Nat, if he is there?”
“He may know the man and have some influence over him.”
“I hardly think anybody could have any influence over that man. He is as crazy as can be, and not to be trusted.”
The two youths approached the old log cabin slowly, keeping as much as possible in the shelter of the trees. Nobody was in sight, nor did any sound reach their ears.
Presently the students found themselves within fifty feet of the cabin, the door of which stood half open. Each looked at the other.
“I’m going ahead,” said Dave, resolutely. He and his companion had provided themselves with sticks, and Gus had also picked up two stones.
“Oh! oh! oh!” came of a sudden, to their startled ears. “Oh dear me!”
“It’s Nat!” ejaculated Dave. “Something has happened to him!”
“Maybe the wild man attacked him,” added Gus.128
“We’ll soon see,” cried Dave, and started forward on a run.
Soon our hero was at the door of the cabin, which he pushed wide open. Inside all was dark, for it was growing late, and the rude structure boasted of but one small window, stuffed with cedar boughs to keep out the wind.
“Nat, where are you?” cried Dave, as his eyes sought to pierce the semi-darkness.
“Who—who is that calling me?” came, in surprise, from the center of the cabin.
“It is I—Dave Porter! Where are you, and what happened? Where is the wild man?”
“Oh, I’m caught fast—in a trap!” groaned the money-lender’s son. “Oh, help me out! My ankle is almost broken!”
“But the wild man—?” queried Gus, who was close behind our hero.
“I—I don’t know where he is,” gasped Nat. “Oh, say, won’t you please help me? My ankle is fast in a trap! Oh, how it hurts!”
“Wasn’t the wild man here?” asked Dave, as he got out his match-box to strike a light.
“No—at least, I haven’t seen him.”
Dave soon had a match lit, and with it set fire to a cedar bough placed in the rude fireplace of the cabin. By the glare of this light he and Gus looked around them and at their fellow-student.129
The cabin was unfurnished excepting for a rude bench and a board placed on some piles of stones for a table. In the fireplace were a kettle and a frying-pan, and on the table the remains of a scanty meal of crackers, eggs, and apples. A tin pail, half filled with water, was also handy.
When Dave and Gus turned their attention to Nat Poole they had to stare in wonder. Nat sat on the floor, nursing a bruised ankle that was caught fast between the jaws of an old-fashioned steel animal-trap. The trap was chained to the floor, and the release chain ran to a corner of the fireplace, several feet beyond the sufferer’s reach.
“However did this happen?” asked Gus, although he and our hero could easily guess the answer to the question.
“Help me get loose first,” groaned poor Nat. “This thing is sawing down to the bone.”
Dave saw the release chain, which was held firm by a hook. Stepping over, he unhooked it, and then it was an easy matter to pry the jaws of the steel-trap apart. As soon as this was done, Nat rose slowly to his feet, making a wry face as he did so.
“I’ll be lame for life—I know I will!” he groaned. “Oh dear, how it hurts!”
“You take care that you don’t get blood-poisoning from it,” warned Gus. “When you130get home wash it well, and put some peroxide of hydrogen, or something like that on it.”
“Blood-poisoning! Oh dear!” and Nat gave another groan.
“Shall we help you back to your boat?” asked Dave.
“If you will.”
“Where is the wild man?” questioned Gus, looking around.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care—just now,” answered Nat Poole.
131CHAPTER XIVTHE BANDANNA HANDKERCHIEF
Nat Poole could hardly walk on the injured leg, so Dave and Gus supported him as the three left the rude cabin and headed for the shore of the island.
“Do you know where the wild man is?” repeated Gus, who had not been satisfied by the reply given to the question before.
“I do not,” snapped the money-lender’s son, with a touch of his former tartness. “I haven’t seen him.”
“But you know that cabin is where he lives,” put in our hero.
“I thought so—but I wasn’t sure of it.”
“Did you see him come ashore, Nat?”
“No—that is, not to-day. I saw him land here yesterday.”
“And that is what brought you here to-day?” remarked Gus.
“Yes, if you must know,” was the somewhat cold answer.
“See here, Nat, do you know this wild man?” asked Dave, abruptly.132
“Me? Know him? How should I know him?” demanded the money-lender’s son, but his apparent astonishment did not, somehow, ring nor look true.
“That is what I wanted to find out.”
“I don’t know him—at least, I don’t think I do. I’ve never seen him close enough to make sure. Maybe he’s some fellow who belongs around here. I wanted to find out about him—just as everybody else wants to find out, that’s all.”
“Want to have him caught and placed in an asylum?” asked Gus.
“It’s not my business to place him anywhere,” cried Nat, hastily. “For all we know, he may be harmless.”
“Not when he stops young ladies on the road and catches folks in steel-traps,” answered our hero, with a faint smile.
“Well, that’s right, too,” grumbled the money-lender’s son. “Maybe he ought to be in an asylum.”
“I think he is on this island now,” went on Dave. “His rowboat is here, anyway.”
“Say, I’ll tell you what we can do!” cried Gus. “Take his boat with us! Then he can’t get away, and we can send the authorities over here to get him.”
“That’s an idea, Gus!” cried Dave. “We’ll do it.”133
“Would that be fair to the man?” asked Nat. “He—er—he might starve to death—or try to swim to shore and get drowned.”
“He can’t starve to death in one night, and I don’t think he’ll drown himself. The authorities can come over here early in the morning and round him up, if he is here.”
“I—er—I don’t think much of your plan,” murmured Nat, and seemed much disturbed.
In about a quarter of an hour the boys reached the island shore, at the spot where Nat’s motor-boat was tied up. They helped him get in and start up the engine. He had been told how they had come to the island.
“If you want to, you can tie your boat fast to the stern and ride back with me,” he said.
“All right, Nat, we’ll do it,” answered Dave. “It is getting rather late and it’s a pretty stiff row to the school.”
The motor-craft was started up and sent along in the direction where the boys had left the Oak Hall rowboat. Their course took them past the spot where the wild man’s boat had been tied up.
“Why, look, it’s gone!” cried Gus, standing up and pointing to the place.
“True enough,” answered our hero. “He134must have gone off in it while we were up to the cabin.”
“He can’t be very far away, Dave.”
The boys looked up and down the river, but could catch no trace of the missing rowboat or the wild man. In the meantime, the motor-craft was moving forward, where the other boat had been beached among the bushes.
“That is gone, too!” ejaculated Dave. “He has taken our boat!”
“Oh, do you really think so?” asked Gus. He felt that he was responsible for the craft, as he had taken it from the school boathouse.
“I certainly do think so,” said Dave. “It was a neat trick to play.”
“It’s a wonder he didn’t take the motor-boat, too.”
“Maybe he didn’t know how to run the boat and it was too heavy to start without the engine.”
“I guess you are right!” came suddenly from Nat. “Look here!”
He had stooped down to pick something up from the grating on the motor-boat’s bottom. If was a torn and dirty bandanna handkerchief.
“The wild man’s!” cried Dave. “I remember it.”
“I am glad he didn’t get away with my boat,” returned the money-lender’s son, drawing a deep135breath. “I’ll keep this handkerchief to remember him by.”
“Is it marked in any way?” questioned our hero. “Perhaps it has his name or initials on it.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” returned Nat. “Let us hurry up and get back to the school. If we are late, old Haskers will be after us.”
“Go on and run the boat as fast as you please, Nat,” answered Dave. “But I want to look at that handkerchief.”
Rather unwillingly, the money-lender’s son passed the bandanna over. It was now growing so dark that Dave could see but little.
“Wait, I’ll light a match,” suggested Gus, and did so, and by the protected but flickering flare our hero looked the handkerchief over. In one corner there was a faint stamping.
“Looks like ‘Rossmore Sanitarium’ to me,” said Dave, slowly. “Or it may be ‘Bossmore’ or ‘Crossmore.’ The beginning is too faded to be sure.”
“Bossmore Sanitarium?” queried Nat, and then he became silent and thoughtful. A little later he asked for the bandanna and placed it in his pocket.
The run in the motor-boat to the school dock did not take long. As soon as Nat’s craft was properly housed, Dave and Gus assisted the136money-lender’s son up the walk and across the campus.
“I suppose I’ve got to report the loss of the rowboat,” said Gus, ruefully.
“It wasn’t your fault, Gus,” answered Dave. “I’ll go with you to Doctor Clay.”
“I can’t go with my lame foot,” put in Nat, and he hobbled up to his dormitory, eyed by several curious students, who wanted to know how he had gotten hurt.
The boys found the master of Oak Hall getting ready for supper. He looked at them inquiringly as they entered his study, in answer to his invitation.
“Well! well!” he exclaimed, after listening to their story. “This is certainly odd! I trust Poole was not seriously hurt.”
“I think he was more scared than hurt,” answered Dave. “The trap scratched his ankle, that’s all. I am sure it is not sprained or broken.”
“But the rowboat––” put in Gus. “I didn’t mean––”
“Do not worry about that, Plum. It was not your fault. I am glad the wild man did not harm you. I think you got off well. After this you must be careful about how you go out after this remarkable creature.”
The master of the school then asked for more particulars of the occurrence, and said he would137notify the town authorities about the loss of the rowboat, and ask that a general hunt take place for the wild man.
“They ought to be able to round him up sooner or later,” he added.
There was considerable excitement in the school when it was learned that the wild man had been heard of again. The boys looked for the strange individual and so did the town authorities and many farmers, but nothing came of the search. Nat was called on to exhibit the bandanna handkerchief and did so. Nobody could make out the first part of the name on it, for the handkerchief showed a small hole where the letters should be.
“That is queer,” said Dave, to Roger and Phil, when he heard of this. “That handkerchief did not have a hole there when I looked at it.”
“Maybe Nat put the hole there,” returned the senator’s son.
“Why would he do that?” questioned Phil.
“So that nobody would know what the name of the sanitarium really was. I believe with Dave that Nat knows the man, or knows about him, and is trying to keep something a secret.”
“Hum! Maybe you are right,” mused the shipowner’s son.
Phil had perfected all his arrangements for his spread at the hotel, and his guests for that138occasion had been duly invited and all had accepted the invitation. It had been arranged with Mr. Dale that the boys should drive to the hotel in the school carryall, and Horsehair was to have his supper in town and, later on, bring them home. No secret was made of the affair, for this was not necessary.
“I am only sorry for one thing,” said Phil to Dave. “That is that I can’t have the whole school there. But that would go beyond my purse.”
“Well, you’ll have enough, Phil, to insure a good time,” answered our hero.
The night was clear, with numberless stars glittering in the heavens, when the carryall drove around to the Hall door and the boys piled in. All were in the best of humor, and they left the campus in a burst of song.
“I’ve been saving up for this!” cried Ben. “Haven’t eaten a mouthful for two days!”
“Say, that puts me in mind of a story,” cried Shadow. “Once a poor street-boy was invited to a Sunday-school picnic. The ladies fed him all he could hold and then some. At last, when he couldn’t eat another mouthful, and saw some cake and pie and ice-cream going to waste, what do you suppose he said?”
“Give it up, Shadow.”
“He said, ‘Say, missus, please save it fer me,139won’t yer? I won’t eat fer a week, honest, an’ then I’ll come an’ finish it all up fer yer!’”
“Good for the street-boy!”
“Say, Phil, you won’t have to save anything for me! I’ll eat my share right now!”
“I’ve been in training for this feed!”
“Shove the horses along, Horsehair; we don’t want the soup to get cold.”
“I’m a-shovin’ ’em along,” answered the carryall driver. “We’ll git there in plenty o’ time.”
“Say, Phil, as far as I am concerned, you can have this affair pulled off once a month,” remarked Buster.
“Make it once a week,” piped in Chip Macklin. And then Luke Watson commenced to sing a popular negro ditty and all joined lustily in the chorus.
On and on rattled the carryall until the lights of Oakdale shone in the distance. The boys continued to sing, while one or two blew freely on the tin horns they carried. Here and there somebody would come rushing to a window, or door, to learn what was doing.
“It’s them Oak Hall boys!” cried one old farmer. “My, but they do have high times!”
“So they do,” returned his wife. “But they are good boys,” she added, for some of them had once aided her in capturing a runaway bull.
With a grand flourish the carryall swept around140the last corner and came to a halt in front of the hotel. Phil had hoped to see some extra lights lit and was somewhat disappointed to see only the regular lantern burning.
“I told him to light up freely and he said he would,” he whispered to Dave.
“Maybe he thought you meant the dining-room, Phil.”
The students piled out of the carryall and waited for Phil, as host, to lead the way into the hotel. All marched up the steps and into the broad hallway. There they were confronted by the hotel proprietor, who came to meet them in his shirtsleeves. He looked completely bewildered.
“Well, we are here for that supper, Mr. Sparr!” cried Phil. “I hope you are all ready for us!”
The hotel man looked at the boys in amazement. His jaw dropped. Then he gasped out the words:
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!”
141CHAPTER XVAT THE HOTEL
At once Dave and all the other students who had come to the hotel with Phil, expecting a fine spread, saw that something was wrong. They looked questioningly at the shipowner’s son and at the hotel proprietor.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Phil, quickly.
“Matter?” repeated Jason Sparr. “That’s just exactly what I’d like to know.”
“You—you are ready for us, aren’t you?” went on Phil, with a sudden catch in his voice.
“Why should I be ready, when you called the whole thing off?” growled the hotel man. “Fine way to do, I must say,” he continued, with strong anger in his voice.
“Called the whole thing off?” repeated Phil. “Me?”
“Yes, you!” shouted Jason Sparr. “And after we had everything in fine shape, too! Say, don’t you think my stuff is too good to send to the Old Ladies’ Home?” he demanded.142
“There must be some mistake here, Mr. Sparr,” put in our hero. “Phil didn’t call this spread off. We are here for it, as you can see.”
“But he did call it off—this noon,” returned the hotel proprietor. “And he wasn’t a bit nice about it, either. When I asked him what I should do with the extras I had ordered he told me to do as I pleased—send ’em to the Old Ladies’ Home, or throw ’em away! He didn’t act a bit nice.”
“Say, you chump, you!” shouted Phil, growing suddenly angry. “I didn’t send you any word at all about calling it off. I––”
“Don’t you call me a chump, you young rascal!” shouted the hotel man, in equal heat. “I got your message over the telephone––”
“I never sent any,” interrupted Phil.
“It must be a trick,” cried Roger.
“Who played it?” queried another student.
“Maybe this is the work of some of the Military Academy fellows.”
“Like as not.”
“But how did they learn that Phil was going to give the spread?”
“Give it up.”
“Maybe some of our own fellows did it—some who didn’t get an invitation to attend,” suggested Chip.
“Would any one be so mean?” asked Buster.143
“Some of them might be,” murmured Gus.
“I didn’t send you any word,” went on Phil, in greater anger than ever.
“Well, I got word, and so did Professor Smuller. He was mad, too, because he lost another job taking yours.”
“Why didn’t you make sure the word was sent by Mr. Lawrence?” demanded Ben. “You could have done that easily enough.”
“I didn’t think that was necessary. This fellow said––”
“I tell you I didn’t send word!” shouted Phil, growing more angry every instant. “You might have known it was a trick.”
“Of course, he might have known,” added Ben. He lowered his voice. “Say, Phil, if he doesn’t give us the supper make him give your money back.”
“Sure he’s got to give me the money back,” cried the shipowner’s son.
“See here, you can’t bulldoze me!” cried the hotel proprietor. “I’ve had trouble enough as it is. I got ready for this spread and then you called it off, and you were mighty sassy about it, too. I’ve lost a lot of money.”
A wordy war followed, lasting the best part of a half an hour. Through this it was learned that the hotel man had prepared for the spread, and so had the professor of music. Just after144noon telephone messages had come in, calling the whole affair off. Some hot words had passed over the wire, and the hotel man was considerably ruffled. The party talking to Jason Sparr had said that when the spread did come off it would be held elsewhere—intimating that a better place than his hotel could be found.
“It’s all some trick, to get my business away from me!” stormed the hotel man. “I won’t stand for it!”
“I didn’t send the messages, and I either want the spread or I want my money back,” declared Phil, stubbornly. And then more words followed, until it looked as if there might be a fight. Finally, in a rage, Jason Sparr ordered the students from his place.
“All right, we’ll go, but you haven’t heard the end of this!” cried Phil.
“You’ll catch it, for treating us so meanly,” added Ben.
“Don’t you threaten me, or I’ll have the law on you!” roared Jason Sparr.
“Perhaps I’ll call on the law myself,” answered Phil, and then, unable to control himself, he shook his fist at the hotel man. Then all the boys filed out of the place, some bystanders looking on in wonder.
“Well, what do you think of this!” cried Gus, when outside.145
“Phil, I wouldn’t say anything more just now—you are too excited,” said Dave, catching his chum by the arm.
“Yes, but that fellow is as mean as—as dirt!” answered the shipowner’s son.
“He hasn’t any right to keep Phil’s money,” said one student.
“Then the feast is called off, is it?” said Buster, with something like a groan in his voice.
“And somebody is going to have the laugh on us!” added Shadow. “Say, this puts me in mind of a story,” he added, brightening. “Once some boys were going––”
“Oh, stow it, Shadow!”
“This is no time for stories!”
“I’d rather go down to the cemetery and weep.”
“Nobody is going to have the laugh on me,” cried Phil. “We’ll get something somewhere.”
“Right you are!” cried Dave. “I’ve got it!” he added. “Let us drive over to Rockville and get something at the hotel there. I know the proprietor and he’s a nice man.”
“Better telephone to him first and make sure,” suggested Roger.
“I’ll do it,” said Phil.
The carryall was brought around again and all piled in and drove down to a drug store where there was a telephone booth. Into the booth went146Phil, to communicate with the hotel in Rockville. He came out smiling.
“It’s all fixed up and I guess we’ll have something this time,” he said. “But just wait; I’ll fix that mean Jason Sparr, see if I don’t!”
“It’s quite a drive to Rockville,” protested Horsehair, when they told the driver what was wanted.
“Never mind, it will do the horses good,” cried Roger. “They are getting too fat standing still.”
“Say, Phil,” whispered Dave. “If you haven’t got money enough along, I can let you have some.”
“Good,” was the whispered return. “I was going to speak of that, as soon as I got a chance.”
The affair at the Oakdale hotel had put something of a damper on the crowd, and all the talk was of how Jason Sparr had acted and who had been mean enough to play such a trick.
“Maybe it was Nat Poole,” said Chip.
“What makes you think that?” asked Phil.
“Oh, he is mean enough for anything.”
“If Nat did this I’ll—I’ll mash him!” cried Phil, with energy.
“Can’t you find out?” asked Roger.
“I’ll try—but most likely the fellow who did it took care to cover up his tracks. Sparr didn’t know where the messages came from.”147
On and on rolled the carryall, until the lights of Rockville appeared in the distance. By this time all of the students were decidedly hungry. They rolled up to the little hotel and those with horns gave a couple of shrill blasts.
This time there was a warm welcome by the host. He came out, bowing and smiling.
“Did the best I could for you, on such short notice,” he said, as they entered. “Next time, if you’ll only give me a little more time––”
“That’s all right, let’s have what you’ve got,” cried Buster. He was hungry enough to eat anything.
They were ushered into what was usually the private dining-room of the little hostelry. The table had been spread out and was tastefully decorated with paper chrysanthemums, made by the hotel man’s daughter. A parlor-lamp and several others shed light on the scene.
“This looks good!” murmured Roger.
“Wait till you see what we get to eat,” answered Sam. “It may be slim—on such short notice.”
But he was agreeably mistaken, the spread was all that could be desired. There were oysters on the half-shell, tomato soup, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, lettuce salad, olives, and also coffee, pie, and various cookies. It was served in home style, by the hotel man’s daughter and a hired girl.148
“Say, this is fine!” cried Buster, smacking his lips.
“Better, maybe, than if we had stayed at the other place,” added Dave.
“Only we haven’t got the music,” said Phil. He was glad that matters had taken such a nice turn, but still angry over what had gone before.
As they had already lost so much time, the boys did not dare linger too long over the spread. Horsehair was given something to eat in another room, and then they set out on the return. Songs were sung and jokes cracked, and Shadow was permitted to tell half a dozen of his best stories. Yet, with it all, the edge had been taken off the celebration, and Phil knew this as well as anybody, and was correspondingly chagrined.
“I’ll make that man square up with me, see if I don’t,” he said to Dave, as they arrived at the school. “I’m not going to lose all that money.”
“Well, be careful of what you do, Phil,” warned our hero. “Don’t get into a fight.”
The next day the shipowner’s son sent out two sharp letters, one to Jason Sparr and the other to Professor Smuller. He stated that he was not responsible for the trip-up that had taken place, and demanded his money be returned to him, otherwise he would put the matter in the hands of the law.149
To these letters came speedy replies. The musical professor said he was sorry a mistake had been made, and he returned the amount paid to him, and he further stated that if he could discover who had played the trick he would make that party settle up.
“That’s decent of him,” said Phil. “I am going to send him back five dollars for his trouble.” And this he did, much to Professor Smuller’s satisfaction.
The letter from Jason Sparr was entirely different. He berated Phil for the stand taken, and stated that he would pay back nothing. He added that he had learned how the crowd had gone to Rockville to dine, and said he was satisfied that it was all a trick to get patronage away from his hotel. He added that he had had trouble enough with people from Oak Hall school and he wanted no more of it.
“I guess I’ll have to sue him,” growled Phil, on showing the letter to Dave and Roger.
“I don’t think I’d bother,” answered Dave. “Put it down to Experience, and let it go at that.”
“If you sued him it would cost as much as you’d get, and more,” added the senator’s son.
“Humph! I don’t feel like swallowing it,” growled Phil. “I’ll get it out of him somehow.”150
“He must have lost something—if he got ready for the spread,” said Dave.
“Oh, I don’t think he lost much. He’s a close one—to my way of thinking,” responded the shipowner’s son.