Читать книгу Dave Porter and the Runaways: or, Last Days at Oak Hall - Stratemeyer Edward - Страница 6

“Hurrah! here we are at Oakdale at last!”

“Old town looks natural, doesn’t it?”

“So it does, Roger. See any of the fellows?”

“Not yet, Dave. But we are sure to meet somebody, even if it is a school-day,” went on the senator’s son.

“Uncle Dunston, let me take the auto around to the hotel,” said our hero. “I know the streets better than you do. We have to make several turns.”

“All right, Dave,” was the ready answer, and Dunston Porter arose and allowed his nephew to crowd into the driver’s seat.

The run to the town in the vicinity of which Oak Hall was located had been made without further incident. On the way the party had talked over Mrs. Breen’s affairs, and Dunston Porter had promised to take the matter up, through his lawyer.

“I think it best that our names don’t appear in the case,” said he. “Otherwise, Mr. Haskers might not treat you so well during the term.”

“He never treats us well, anyway,” grumbled Phil. “But you are right, don’t mention our names.”

On this late winter day the town looked rather dreary, but the young folks were in high spirits, and Dave, with a grand flourish, ran the car up to one of the best hotels the place afforded. As before, word had been sent ahead that they were coming, and the host of the resort came out to meet them.

“We’ll have dinner ready inside of quarter of an hour,” he said. “Come in and make yourselves at home.”

The repast was fully as good as the dinner served at Ryeport, and everybody enjoyed it greatly.

“And now for the Hall!” cried Dave.

“Glad to leave us?” asked Jessie, half-reproachfully.

“You know better than to ask such a question,” he replied. “But if we have got to get back to the grind, why, we might as well do it.”

“And I’m a bit anxious to see how the old place looks,” added the senator’s son.

“Dave, you can run the car to the Hall, if you wish,” said Mr. Porter, feeling sure the youth would like to do that very thing.

“All right.”

The touring automobile was brought around, and they were just getting in when there came a sudden hail from across the way.

“Hello, there, everybody!”

“It’s Dave Porter, and Roger, and Phil!” said somebody else.

“Why, how are you, Shadow!” cried our hero. “And how are you, Buster?” he added, as Maurice Hamilton and Buster Beggs came across the road to greet them.

“Fine!” puffed Buster, who was very fat and jolly. “Only Shadow has been walking the feet off of me!” And then the stout youth shook hands all around.

“Now, just to hear that!” cried Shadow, as he, too, shook hands. “Why, all we did was to walk from the Hall to here.”

“And up one street and down another for half an hour,” burst in Buster.

“Say, that puts me in mind of a story!” cried Shadow, who was noted for his yarn-spinning weakness. “Once two men started to walk–”

“Stow it!” came from three of the other lads in concert.

“It’s too early yet to tell stories, Shadow,” said Dave, with a smile. “You can tell them to-night. Tell us now, is there anything new at the Hall?”

“There sure is.”

“What?” asked Phil and Roger.

“The wild man.”

“Oh, has he turned up again?” asked the girls, with interest.

“Twice – yesterday morning and this morning,” said Buster.

“He didn’t turn up at all, Buster,” interposed Shadow. “When you start to tell a story, why don’t you tell it straight?”

“Oh, you tell it,” grumbled the fat boy. “You have that sort of thing down to a science.”

“There isn’t very much to tell,” went on Shadow Hamilton. “He left his mark, that’s all.”

“Left his mark?” queried Dave.

“That’s it – wide, blue marks. He must have about a ton of blue chalk.”

“Say, Shadow, you are talking in riddles,” burst out the shipowner’s son. “Give it to us in plain United States, can’t you?”

“Sure I can. Well, this wild man visited the school yesterday morning and this morning, before anybody was up. The first time he went into the big classroom and took some books, and the next time he visited the kitchen and pantry and took some grub – I beg the ladies’ pardon – I should have said food – a ham, a chicken, and some doughnuts.”

“And the blue chalk–?” queried Mr. Porter.

“I was coming to that. In the classroom he left his mark – a big circle, with a cross inside, in blue chalk.”

“And how do you know that is the mark of the wild man?” asked Laura.

“Oh, we found that out some time ago,” answered Shadow. “He seems to have a mania for blue chalk, and even puts it on his face sometimes, and he chalks down that circle with the cross wherever he goes.”

“Then, if he does that, why can’t they trail him down?” asked Dave.

“Because he is like a flea – when you try to put your hands on him he isn’t there,” answered Shadow. “And say, that puts me in mind of another story. Once three boys were–”

“That will do, Shadow!” cried Roger. “About the wild man is enough for the present.”

“Have they any idea who he is?” asked Dunston Porter.

“Not the slightest,” answered Buster. “And they don’t know where he keeps himself, although it must be in the woods near the school.”

“Oh, Dave, I hope he doesn’t harm anybody!” cried Jessie, with a shiver.

“Are you boys ready to go back to the Hall?” asked Dunston Porter.

“I am,” responded Buster, readily.

“So am I,” added the story-teller of the school.

“Then we’ll take you along, provided you don’t mind being crowded.”

“We won’t mind, if the young ladies won’t,” returned the fat youth.

“Oh, come in by all means!” cried Laura.

“We’ll make room somehow,” added Jessie.

A minute later the big car started on the way to Oak Hall, with Dave at the wheel and his uncle beside him.

“Looks familiar, doesn’t it?” called out Roger, as they spun along the turnpike.

“It certainly does!” answered Roger, and then he added, “What do you say to the old school song?”

“Fine!” came back the answer, and then the senator’s son commenced a song they all knew well, which was sung to the tune of “Auld Lang Syne.” The girls knew the song, too, and readily joined in.

Loud and clear over the cool air sounded the song, and it was sung several times. Then, just as the car rolled into the grounds of the school, the boys gave one of the Hall yells, and Dave honked the horn of the automobile loud and long.

“Hello! It’s the Porter crowd!”

“Welcome to our city!”

“How about Cave Island, Dave! Did you bring it with you?”

“Heard you caught Jasniff and Merwell, Roger. Good for you!”

“Say, Phil, you’re as sunburnt as if you’d been to the seashore for a summer.”

So the talk ran on as half a dozen students flocked up to the car. The afternoon session was over, and despite the chilliness many lads were out on the campus. Many knew the girls – having met them at some athletic games and at a commencement – and those that did not were glad of a chance for an introduction.

“I am real glad to see you back, boys,” said Doctor Hasmer Clay, the head of the institution, as he appeared and shook hands. “Glad to see you, Mr. Porter, and also the young ladies,” he added. “So you came all the way by automobile, eh? It must have been a delightful trip.”

“It was,” answered Dave’s uncle.

All went inside, and the visitors were permitted to accompany Dave and his chums to their dormitory. The boys’ baggage had already arrived, so it did not take the lads long to settle down.

“And now we’ll have to start back,” said Dunston Porter, a little later. “Dave, take good care of yourself, and make a good record.”

“I’ll do my best, Uncle Dunston.”

“And don’t let that wild man get you,” added Jessie, as she took his hand and allowed him to hold her own, perhaps longer than was necessary.

“And don’t forget to write,” put in his sister.

“Oh, I’ll not forget that!” answered Dave, with a smile, both to his sister and to the girl whom he regarded so warmly.

It was a trying moment – this parting – but it was soon over, and, with Dunston Porter at the wheel, and the girls and boys waving their hands, the touring car left the Oak Hall grounds, on its return journey to Crumville.

“Well, here we are, as the pug dog said to the looking-glass, when he walked behind it to look for himself,” remarked Phil, dropping into a chair.

“I suppose it will take us a few days to get settled down,” answered Dave, resting on the top of a table. “I don’t feel much like unpacking yet, do you?”

“No, let us wait until to-night or to-morrow,” returned Roger, dropping on one of the beds. He was still thinking of how clear and deep Laura’s eyes had appeared when she had said good-by to him.

“I really hope you will not be homesick,” said a girlish voice, and Bertram Vane, one of the students, appeared from the next room and sat down on a chair. “Homesickness is such an awfully cruel thing, don’t you know.”

“No homesickness here, Polly,” answered Dave. “I guess we are just tired out, that’s all. We’ve done a lot of traveling since we left Oak Hall.”

“So I understand. Wasn’t it dreadful that Jasniff and Merwell should prove such villains!” went on the girlish student. “Weren’t you really afraid to – er – to touch them?”

“Not much!” cried Phil. “I am only sorry Merwell got away.”

“But you got the diamonds, I heard?” put in Sam Day, who was another of the chums.

“We did.”

At that moment came musical sounds from another room near by – the sounds of somebody strumming on a guitar.

“Hello, there’s Luke Watson!” cried Roger. “Hi, come in with that guitar and give us a tune, Luke!” he called out.

“Thought I might cheer you up,” said Luke, appearing. “How would you like me to play ‘The Girl I Left Behind Me,’ or something like that?”

“Make it ‘Oh, Those Eyes So Tender!’” suggested Buster.

“Or else that beautiful ditty called, ‘He Loved, But Had to Leave Her,’” suggested Shadow. “Say, that puts me in mind of a story,” he went on. “This is true, too, though you may not believe it. A young man went to call on his best girl and took a bouquet of flowers along. The bouquet was done up in several thicknesses of tissue paper. Some of his friends who were jokers got hold of that bouquet and fixed it up for him. He gave it to the girl, and when she took off the tissue paper what do you suppose she found? A bunch of celery and some soup greens! He was so fussed up he didn’t know what to say, and he got out in a hurry.”

“Hurrah for the chaps who fixed up the bouquet!” cried Phil. “But start up, Luke. Something in which we can all join.”

“But not too loud,” cautioned Roger. “Old Haskers might not like–”

“Oh, hang old Haskers!” interrupted Phil. “He can’t–”

“Sh-sh!” came from Dave, suddenly, and silence fell on the group of boys. All turned towards the doorway leading to the hall. There, on the threshold, stood the instructor just mentioned, Mr. Job Haskers.