Dave Porter and the Runaways Part 21

"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, to skylark a little in the dormitories, and then settle down for the night.

A week pa.s.sed, 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 gla.s.ses, 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----"

"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 three days' work, but Professor Haskers said nothing of this.

"He doesn't dare," declared the s.h.i.+powner'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 s.h.i.+powner'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 he could 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 s.h.i.+powner'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 in earnest 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 cla.s.s 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."

"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?"