Dave Porter and the Runaways: or, Last Days at Oak Hall
“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.”
“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. “He must 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 deep breath. “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 the money-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 would notify 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 that occasion 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, won’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 around the 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!”
CHAPTER XV
AT 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.
“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.
“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 after noon 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.
“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 went Phil, 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.”
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.
“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.
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.”
“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.
CHAPTER XVI
THE BLOWING UP OF THE BRIDGE
“Say, this is something fierce, Dave!”
“I agree with you, Roger. I don’t see how we are going to do such a long lesson.”
“Old Haskers is getting worse and worse,” growled Phil. “I think we ought to report it to Doctor Clay.”
“Just what I think,” came from Ben. “He keeps piling it on harder and harder. I think he is trying to break us.”
“Break us?” queried our hero, looking up from his book.
“Yes, make us miss entirely, you know.”
“Why should he want us to do that?” asked Roger.
“Then we wouldn’t be able to graduate this coming June.”
“Would he be mean enough to do that?” asked Dave.
“I think he would be mean enough for anything,” responded Phil. “Oh, I am not going to stand it!” he cried.
The boys had just come upstairs, after an extra hard session in their Latin class. All were aroused over the treatment received at the hands of Job Haskers. He had been harsh and dictatorial to the last degree, and several times it had looked as if there might be an outbreak.
The next day the outbreak came. Phil sprang up in class and denounced the unreasonable teacher, and Ben followed. Then Dave and Roger took a hand, and so did Buster and several others.
“Sit down! Sit down!” cried Job Haskers, growing white in the face. “Sit down, and keep quiet.”
“I won’t keep quiet,” answered the shipowner’s son. “You are treating us unfairly, Mr. Haskers, and I won’t stand for it.”
“Neither will I,” added Ben.
“Sit down, I tell you!” stormed the instructor.
But none of the students obeyed him, and in a minute more the room was in an uproar. One of the under-teachers heard it, and quickly sent for Doctor Clay.
As the master of Oak Hall strode into the classroom there was a pause. He mounted the platform and put up his hand, and soon all became quiet.
“Young gentlemen, be seated,” he said, in his strict but kindly fashion, and instantly every student sat down. Then he turned to the teacher. “Mr. Haskers, what is the trouble?” he asked.
“The trouble is that certain students will not learn their lessons,” answered Job Haskers, sourly. “I had to take them to task for it.”
“Who are those students?”
“Lawrence, Basswood, Porter, Morr, Beggs–”
“That will do for the present. Lawrence, stand up,” ordered Doctor Clay.
Phil did as requested, and the eyes of the entire class were fastened on the shipowner’s son.
“Now, Lawrence, what have you to say for yourself?” went on the doctor.
In a plain, straightforward manner, Phil told his side of the story. Several times Job Haskers wanted to interrupt him, but Doctor Clay would not permit this. Then Ben was questioned, and after that the master of the school turned to Dave.
“Is your complaint the same, Porter?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And yours, Morr?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What have you to say, Beggs?”
“The same. The lessons lately have been altogether too hard – we simply can’t get through them. We never had such long lessons before.”
“I have given them only the regular lessons,” put in Job Haskers.
“Ahem! Let us go over them and see what can be done,” responded the doctor. “If the students are willing to work we do not want to overburden them, Mr. Haskers.”
A discussion lasting over a quarter of an hour followed, and in the end the lessons were cut down, much to the satisfaction of the whole class, who felt like cheering the head of the school. The only person who was not satisfied was Job Haskers. He was invited to go out with the doctor to his private office, and came back some time later, looking anything but happy.
“I’ll wager he got a calling down!” whispered Phil to Dave. “I hope he did.”
He was right about the “calling down,” as he expressed it. The master of Oak Hall had spoken very plainly to the instructor, and given Job Haskers to understand that he must get along better with the boys in the future, and treat them with more consideration, or he would be asked to resign from the staff of the school.
Several days slipped by and during that time Dave paid close attention to his lessons. He had also a theme to write on “The Future of Our Country,” and he devoted considerable time to this, hoping it would receive at least honorable mention, even if it did not win the prize offered for the best production.
“Come on down to town!” cried Roger, one afternoon, as he rushed in, “Big excitement on! Going to blow the railroad up!”
