The Boys of the Wireless Part 19

"You won't do it?"

"Hardly."

"You'll be sorry."

"All right."

"Suppose-suppose Bert gives you fifty dollars, will you keep away?"

"Say, Mart," observed Tom, quietly, but with force, "you're too cheap.

Grace Morgan is worth a million, if she is worth a cent. You can't scare me off nor buy me off. She's a dear little lady, my good friend, and I wouldn't give up her company under any circ.u.mstances as long as my coming seems to please her."

"Rot you!" shouted Mart, fairly infuriated at the failure of his cherished schemes. "I've a good mind to kick you. I'll do it, yes, I will--"

"Stop there, you miserable scamp!"

"Let go!"

"Speak another word, and I'll half choke the life out of you!"

"Ben!" murmured Tom gratefully.

A form had flashed through the doorway. There was the sound of a struggle, a thud, as Mart Walters' body struck the floor.

"I'm sitting on him, Tom," announced the newcomer. "Lie still, or I'll knock you silly. Where's that gag, Tom? I've got it."

Tom felt the hand of his friend grope in the dark and remove the gag from under his chin. Then, from the squirmings and splutterings of Mart, he knew that Ben had silenced him effectually. Next, Ben whipped out his pocket knife, and the ropes holding Tom a prisoner were severed.

"Trim and tidy," reported the diligent Ben as he helped Tom to his feet.

"I've gagged him and tied him for keeps. Come outside."

"Why, how in the world did you happen to come along in the nick of time?" propounded Tom, wonderingly.

"Never mind that now. You do just what I tell you to do. You were bound for Morgan's?"

"Yes."

"Get there, then. I'll come along a little later. I've got something else to do hereabouts."

"But Mart, here?"

"He'll be taken care of, never fear," retorted Ben with a chuckle.

"And the Black Caps?"

"You forget all about it till I see you later," insisted Ben. "There will be quite a story to tell. Don't spoil it by hanging around here. I know my business. Go along."

Tom did as directed. He could guess that there was some motive in his chum's insistence. He rearranged his disordered attire, left the spot, and half an hour later had followed Ben's directions, having indeed forgotten everything except that he was seated on the Morgan porch with charming Grace as his companion.

"What is that?" exclaimed Grace suddenly.

Tom arose quickly to his feet at the startling inquiry. The light from the front rooms illumined the porch, but beyond the shadows were vague and dim. Amid these, Tom, peering, discerned some bustling forms.

He moved towards the b.u.t.ton controlling the electric lights at either side of the pillars at the steps. Just as he pressed it, ear-splitting sounds rang out.

"The Black Caps!" exclaimed Tom, as he recognized his recent persecutors.

"Oh, what are they here for?" cried Grace, timidly clinging to Tom's arm.

"Fire him, men!"

A struggling form in the grasp of the six young outlaws was forcibly propelled forward, landed on the porch steps and rolled over on the gravel walk.

"Cut for it!" came the sharp mandate.

The Black Caps vanished as if by magic. Tom stared hard. Grace, trembling with excitement, gazed vaguely at the figure arising to its feet.

"Why," she faltered, catching sight of the terrified face of the unwilling visitor, "it is Mart Walters!"

It was Mart, indeed, and he was a sight. From head to foot loose fluttering feathers waved ghost-like in the night breeze. Mart was not bound now, but the gag was still in his mouth. He cast one appalled glance at Grace and Tom, tore the gag loose and uttered a shrill yell of rage and chagrin. Then, throwing his hands above his head, he, too, disappeared.

"What does it all mean, Tom?" quavered Grace with a bloodless face.

"There-there is somebody else!"

She shrank back anew with the words.

"It's all right," Tom rea.s.sured her. "It is Ben Dixon."

Ben, smothering a laugh, came up the steps, lifting his cap and smiling, his eyes twinkling.

"The biter bit, the tables turned, Miss Grace," he said.

"Ben, explain what it all means," pleaded Grace. "Tom won't."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "WHY," SHE FALTERED, "IT IS MART WALTERS!"]

"It's like him not to," declared Tom's staunch chum. "I got a hint from a friend early in the evening that the Barber boys were on the rampage.

I missed Tom by 'phone and started to intercept him on his way here, when I ran across the crowd talking with Mart Walters. I learned the whole scheme, and followed Walters to a hut where the gang had imprisoned Tom, and-well, I set Tom free and tied and gagged Walters in his place."

"What for?" questioned Grace.

"To give him a needed lesson," answered Ben promptly. "When the crowd returned I suppose they had arranged if Walters didn't come back to them they were to 'fix' Tom, as they called it. Two of them carried a feather bed. Two others carried pails of soft soap. It seemed they intended to use tar, but couldn't get any. They ripped open the bed, deluged Walters with the soap, mistaking him for Tom, rolled him in among the feathers, and-you saw him. They never got onto the fact that it was the fellow who had hired them who got the dose they intended for Tom."

"Why did he hire them?" inquired Grace.

"Because that Aldrich cad plotted with Walters to scare Tom away from coming here to see you," explained Ben bluntly.