Читать книгу Motor Boat Boys on the St. Lawrence - Louis Arundel - Страница 4

“Why, hello Jack!”

It was the first day of vacation, and being at the tail end of the week, the motor boat club had wisely decided to defer their departure until the following Monday morning, when they would say goodbye to the home town, and start across the state for Milwaukee.

The speaker was no other than Clarence Macklin; and Jack had come face to face with his bitter enemy upon the main street of the town, as he passed out from a shop where he had been making a little purchase.

Clarence was smiling, after his usual manner; but there was always something crafty about this look of his that made most boys suspicious. Had he been given his choice in the matter Jack would have passed on with a mere nod; for he did not believe in pretending to show anything like friendliness toward this tricky lad, who had once tried to get into the motor boat club, and been blackballed, a fact he had vowed to get even for if it took him a year.

But Clarence evidently had a reason for wishing to talk with the other. He even thrust himself squarely in Jack’s way; and the latter saw no reason why he should avoid an encounter.

“Well,” continued Clarence, “I suppose you fellows are in high feather, now that vacation has come, and you can break away?”

“Sure we are,” replied Jack, trying to seem good-natured; though secretly he was wondering what the other had concealed up his sleeve, and why he insisted on stopping him in this way; for it happened that just a day or so before Jack had been reading that good old precept of warning, to “Beware of the Greeks bearing gifts.”

“And I suppose, also, you mean to get away soon?” Clarence went on.

“Monday sees us off, unless something we don’t look for detains us,” was Jack’s response, as he watched the play of emotions on the face of the other, and noted how the pretense of friendliness was fading away.

“Well,” Clarence suddenly burst out with, “I just wanted to let you know what me and Joe Brinker think of your sly trick in finding out where we meant to go this summer, and then arranging to copy after us! It was just what I’d expect such low-down sneaks as Herb Dickson and George Rollins to do; but I am surprised to know how you fell in with such a dirty game, that’s what!”

Really, Jack never had a greater shock in all his life than when Clarence said this. It seemed to almost take his very breath away.

“Now, do you know, Clarence,” he said, steadily, watching that sarcastic face, “the shoe seems to be on the other foot with us. To tell the truth, we’ve been believing all this time that you’d copied after us. In fact, poor Buster has been suspected of giving our secrets away, not intentionally, of course, just because he was seen talking with you. Queer, ain’t it, how great minds often run in the same channel; and both of us thought of going to the St. Lawrence this summer.”

“Aw! now you’re just trying to crawl out of a hole,” the other sneered. “But you needn’t think you can spoil our summer fun for us, if you are six to two. I told my dad about it, and he advised me to go on, regardless. Just make up your minds to keep clear of Joe and me, if you know what’s good for you!”

Even while the other was saying this there suddenly flashed upon Jack’s mind the true reason for his being held up in this way by “Tricky Clarence,” as young Macklin had come to be known among the boys of the town.

He wanted to rub it into Jack, and exult in the consternation which he expected his declaration would cause in the other’s mind. But there was undoubtedly something more than this. If trouble did follow the meeting of the rivals among the many channels of the Thousand Islands, Clarence wished to make it appear that he and Joe were the aggrieved parties, and that they had been actually set upon by the members of the motor boat club, who had a grudge against them of long standing.

It was a clever bit of sharp practice, worthy of a shyster lawyer. Perhaps Clarence may have inherited some of the shifty trickery by which his respected father had laid the foundation to his big fortune in the wilds of Wall street.

But Jack had no desire to stand there and enter into a wordy war with Clarence, who had a ready tongue, and never cared very much where it led him.

So instead of taking up the challenge, as Clarence doubtless wanted him to, Jack simply elevated his eyebrows, and remarked:

“Oh! is that so? Well, I’m going to tell you just one thing for good and all, Clarence. Neither myself, nor any one of the club, want to set eyes on you or Joe; and if it rests with us, we’ll not run across each other all summer. But, understand me,” and his eyes flashed dangerously, “we mean to strike back, and if there’s trouble it will have to be of your seeking. You can have all you want of it. Now, that’s enough. I’m done talking.”

Clarence hardly knew what to say. He looked at the other as though tempted to blurt out the ugly things he had passing through his mind. But somehow he realized that it would not be safe pressing Jack Stormways too far. He was not the fighter Bully Joe had always been; for as a rule he managed to get some one else to carry out his battles for him. And Jack looked really dangerous just then.

“Pooh! words come cheap with some fellows,” he muttered, as he turned away. “But you’ll find they cut no figure with my partner and me. As to our keeping away from any particular spot you chumps choose to patronize, that for your silly warning,” and he derisively snapped his fingers, for he was now twenty feet away.

Jack held himself in with an effort. He felt in a humor to have given the exasperating Clarence the drubbing he deserved; but it would hardly be nice to create such a disturbance of the public peace so soon before they expected to leave home. If it seemed fated that he must teach this contemptible fellow the lesson he so richly deserved it might be wise to wait until they were far away from the town where they lived.

He was looking after the departing Clarence when he saw him take out his handkerchief to wipe his forehead, for the day was warm.

Something fell to the ground, something that, even at that distance reminded Jack of a yellow telegram blank. He could just as well walk from the sporting goods store in the direction Clarence had gone as any other way. And it was his full intention to call after the other, if the paper seemed worth while.

So, in this spirit Jack bent down and secured possession of the crumpled yellow paper.

Just as he had expected it was a telegraph blank, written on but not signed. It seemed to be a message that some one had started, and upon making a mistake in the wording had crammed in his pocket while he started afresh.

That some one, of course, could only be Clarence, since the paper had fallen to the ground at the time he took out his handkerchief.

Ordinarily Jack would not have been guilty of looking at a telegraph message that had come into his possession under such circumstances. It seemed excusable now. Clarence was a secret enemy, and had been plotting to make trouble for the members of the motor boat club that had declined to allow him and Bully Joe membership.

And the very first glimpse he had of the writing gave him a thrill; for he read the address, which was:

“Jared Fullerton, Clayton, N. Y.”

On the spur of the moment Jack changed his mind. Instead of calling out after the departing Clarence, and notifying him that he had dropped something, Jack just crammed the yellow paper in his pocket, and wheeling, strode away.

He was considerably excited, and eager to learn what sort of communication the other could be sending to Clayton that required the use of the wires. And as he walked hurriedly away, with his nerves on edge, he half expected to hear Clarence shouting after him, demanding the return of his property.

“I never would be guilty of doing such a thing,” Jack was saying to himself, on account of the mean feeling he had, “only that sometimes it’s just necessary to fight fire with fire. If I’m wrong in my suspicions then there’s no harm done. But I must know what he’s telegraphing to Clayton. Who Jared Fullerton is I don’t know from Adam; but I bet he’s cut from the same pattern Clarence and Joe were.”

By then Jack had turned a corner. Unable to withstand the temptation any longer, he looked around to make sure Clarence was not in sight; and then drawing out the crumpled piece of paper, read what had been written on the blank.

“Glad to hear boat arrived, and is such a corker. I’m bringing that hundred with me, and hope you’ve earned it before we arrive. Don’t get in trouble for – ”

Apparently Clarence did not like the way that last sentence looked, for he had started to change it several times. Then, thinking he had better write the whole message over again, he had doubtless thrust the first draft into his pocket, and entirely forgotten it.

Jack read it over twice, and looked grave.

“Now what that snake’s up to, I’d give something to know,” he said to himself, as he started to walk on, after placing the message away in his pocket. “Some sort of dirty scheme has been mentioned in a letter, and he’s meaning to pay this Fullerton for doing the thing. What could it be? He says it’s to be done before he and Joe get there. A hundred dollars is a lot of money. Oh! I wonder could he mean to have this other scamp injure our boats in some way?”

It was a dreadful suspicion that beset him right then. How easy for any one to put a lighted match to the canvas tarpaulins that covered the three boats on the steamer’s dock at Clayton. Why, they might be either entirely ruined, or else so badly injured as to be useless for the whole season.

Would Clarence be equal to conspiring to do such a serious thing as this? Jack was sorry to admit that he believed the other was not past it in the least. He had known him to play pranks that savored of the criminal before now; and it had always been his rich father’s money and influence that had saved Clarence from getting the punishment he so richly deserved.

Obeying a sudden inspiration Jack turned and chased back to the railroad station where the telegraph office was located. He knew that the strict orders of the operating company would prevent his seeing the message that Clarence had finally given in, unless they were compelled to show it by a decree of the court. But Jack had no desire to go that deeply just then.

He knew the operator quite well, a young fellow who also sold tickets.

“Clarence Macklin was in here sending a message to Clayton, New York, wasn’t he, Bert?” he asked, trying not to appear at all excited.

“Yes, that’s so, Jack,” came the reply from the agent; who was really an admirer of the young high school pitcher.

“How long ago was that – could I find him in town now, do you think?”

Note how cleverly this question was framed; and the operator fell into the trap without even a suspicion that he was yielding up valuable information.

“I reckon you might,” he said, promptly, “because he went out of here not more than fifteen minutes ago, after sending his message. Start on Monday, I hear, Jack? Well, I only wish I was along. You fellows do have the best times going; while some of the rest of us have to keep our noses to the grindstone. Good luck to you all, and a bully trip on the river,” for Jack, having picked up all the information he wanted, had turned abruptly on his heel and was leaving the station.

That settled it, then. Clarence had sent a message to the unknown Jared Fullerton, that was presumably along the same lines as the one he had first started. And doubtless that individual would be only too glad to try and earn his hundred-dollar fee before Clarence and Joe arrived.

Since none of the motor boat boys would be in Clayton to be injured, the only way in which he could do anything would be to scheme to bring some miserable catastrophe upon the precious motor boats that had arrived and were waiting to be claimed by their young owners at the steamboat docks.

It was surely a time for quick thinking, and action, unless they wished to take the chances of having their whole summer outing spoiled.

And Jack, as he hurried home, was laying out a plan of campaign in his mind calculated to outwit the miserable plotting of the reckless Clarence and his equally unscrupulous crony, Bully Joe.