CHAPTER XX
A MEAN TRICK
"You can't go, Frank!" exclaimed Andy, after a moment's thought.
"Why not?"
"Because we're going to race Waterside to-morrow."
"I know it, but this is to-night. I've got lots of time."
"Perhaps you have, but you heard what Wallace said. He wants us to get a good sleep, and be fresh for to-morrow. If you go chasing over to Dailsburg you won't get home until late and you'll be all broken up. Besides you may get in trouble with the deputy sheriff in possession, and have a row. Or you may get caught coming in late and be suspended. It's too risky."
"I tell you I'm going," said Frank determinedly. "I promised to help them and I'm going to keep my word."
"That's all right," half grumbled Andy, "but what's the matter with that lawyer, Mr. Bolton? I thought he was going to see to this."
"Perhaps he has forgotten it, or Thorny's lawyer may have played a sharp trick. Anyhow, I'm going to see what I can do."
"But if you're caught?"
"I won't be—don't worry."
"I say, what's up?" asked Jack, seeing that something was exciting the Racer brothers.
"I've got to go out of town on a little business," explained Frank quickly. "Oh, I'll be back in time to row the race," he added, as he saw looks of apprehension come over the faces of Jack and Ward.
"Well, if you have to—you have to, that's all, I suppose," commented Jack. "But take care of yourself—and get back soon."
Frank promised, and then started off to catch the first trolley car for Dailsburg.
"If Old Thorny comes to our room while I'm out, rig up some sort of a dummy in my bed," Frank instructed his brother. "Then you snore double, and if he does come in, tell him I'm not feeling well—which is the truth. If he sees a hump in the bed he'll think it's me."
"Do you think he'll be especially on the lookout to-night?" asked Ward.
"I believe he'd do anything to prevent me rowing in the race," answered Frank grimly. "Well, so long, fellows."
He hurried off, and his chums walked back to the school buildings discussing the coming race.
"Jove! I hope Frank gets back in time, and isn't caught!" exclaimed Andy a bit apprehensively. "He's taking chances—and all for a girl. Well—I guess I'd do the same if I had to."
Frank's first act, on reaching Dailsburg, was to go to a telephone and hold a conversation with Mr. Bolton, the lawyer his father had engaged. It was news to Mr. Bolton to learn that he had been outwitted.
"Go right to the Morton house," he directed Frank, "and stay until I come. Tell the widow and her daughter that I will soon have matters straightened out. I'll do it if I have to get a writ from the Supreme Court justice by waking him out of bed. Callum's lawyer has been up to some sharp practice."
The elder Racer lad found Mrs. Morton and Gertrude in a very nervous state when he arrived. In the parlor sat a burly representative of the sheriff's office. He was smoking and sat in one chair with his feet on another.
"Don't you know how to behave?" asked Frank indignantly. "This isn't a stable," and he knocked the cigar from the man's lips with a folded newspaper.
"Here! What are you up to?" yelled the fellow. "I'll have you in jail for that. I represent the law!"
"Then I'm sorry for the law," was Frank's rejoinder. "You stop smoking or I'll notify the sheriff of your conduct. I don't believe he'd stand for that."
"Oh, you mind your own business!" grumbled the deputy. But he did not light another cigar, and he took his feet from the chair.
Frank quickly told Mrs. Morton of the measures he had taken, and assured her that the fellow would soon have to leave.
"Oh, I don't know what we would ever do if it wasn't for you, Frank!" exclaimed Gertrude, blushing as she used his name. "I was desperate when that horrid man came in, and I could only think of one thing to do—notify you."
"I'm glad you did," he said heartily.
"And to-morrow is the day of the race," the girl went on. "I do hope this won't make you lose it! Grace and I are coming to see you win!"
"Then we surely will!" the lad exclaimed.
With Mrs. Morton they sat talking in the kitchen to be farther away from the obnoxious deputy. Two hours passed and there came a ring at the bell. It was Lawyer Bolton and he had succeeded in getting an order from the justice which amounted to a stay in the proceedings. The deputy was ordered to withdraw.
"How do I know this is genuine?" asked the fellow with a sneer, when the paper had been served on him.
"Oh, you'll find it's proper, my man," said Mr. Bolton. "If you like you can call up the sheriff, I have communicated with him. At any rate the house isn't going to be moved. Now you clear out!"
Grumblingly, and with a malevolent look at Frank, the fellow went out.
"This was partly my fault," apologized Mr. Bolton. "I should have been prepared for sharp practice on the part of Callum's representative, but I did not dream he would dare do this. He took advantage of a technicality in the law to get this writ of possession. But it is vacated now, and he can't do anything more until the case comes up for a hearing."
"And then what will happen?" asked Mrs. Morton.
"By that time my father will have the bonds sold and you can pay Professor Callum," said Frank quickly.
There was some further talk and Mr. Bolton left. Then, as it was getting late and Frank did not want to miss getting a trolley car back to school, he took his leave.
"And you must be sure to win!" Gertrude whispered to him.
"Yes. And you must be sure to be there."
"I will!"
Frank looked carefully about as he approached the campus of Riverview school. As he came near the place where the racing shell was kept he saw a light in the boathouse.
"That's queer," he mused, coming to a halt. "It's too late for any of the fellows to be in there. I wonder who it can be? It won't do any harm to take a look."
Cautiously he approached the building and peered in through a window. The sight he saw almost caused him to cry out in anger and amazement.
For there, standing over the shell, was Gerald Welter, the school bully. He had a lantern, and by the light of it Frank saw the gleam of a knife in his hand. As Frank looked he saw Gerald prepare to rip up the bottom of the shell, which act would utterly ruin it.
"The scoundrel!" murmured Frank.
The next instant the knife descended, its sharp point going clear through the frail shell. And then, with a cry of righteous anger, Frank dashed himself against the door of the boathouse, and fairly threw himself inside to confront the amazed and startled bully, who paused in the act of again plunging the knife into the racing craft.