MORE TROUBLE
Dave and Roger spent the best part of half an hour in Asa Dickley's
store, and during that time our hero and his chum gave the particulars
of how they had become acquainted with Ward Porton, and how the young
moving-picture actor had tried to pass himself off as the real Dave
Porter, and how he had been exposed and had disappeared.
"Well, if what you say is true I've been swindled," declared the
storekeeper finally. "I'd like to get my hands on that young man."
"You wouldn't like it any better than I would," returned Dave, grimly.
"You see, I don't know how far this thing extends. Mr. Wecks has been
after me to pay for some shoes that I never got."
"Say, that moving-picture actor must be a lulu!" declared the
storekeeper's clerk, slangily. "If you don't watch out, Porter, he'll
get you into all kinds of hot water."
"I think the best you can do, Dave, is to notify the storekeepers you
do business with to be on the lookout for Porton," suggested Roger.
"Then, if he shows up again, they can have him held until you
arrive."
"I'll certainly have to do something," answered Dave.
"Then I suppose you don't want to settle that bill?" came from Asa
Dickley, wistfully.
"No, sir. And I don't think you ought to expect it."
"Well, I don't know. The fellow who got those goods said he was Dave
Porter," vouchsafed the storekeeper doggedly.
From Asa Dickley's establishment Dave, accompanied by his chum, drove
around to the store kept by Mr. Wecks. He found the curtains still
down, but the shoe-dealer had just come in, and was at his desk
writing letters.
"And you mean to say you didn't get those shoes?" questioned Mr. Wecks
with interest, after Dave had explained the situation. "That's mighty
curious. I never had a thing like that happen before." He knew our
hero well, and trusted Dave implicitly. "I shouldn't have sent that
letter only I had a chance to sell a pair of shoes that size, and I
thought if you had made your selection I could sell the pair you
didn't want to the other fellow."
Once again the two boys had to tell all about Ward Porton and what
that young rascal was supposed to be doing. As they proceeded Mr.
Wecks's face took on a look of added intelligence.
"Exactly! Exactly! That fits in with what I thought when that fellow
went off with the shoes," he declared finally. "I said to myself,
'Somehow Dave Porter looks different to-day. He must have had a spell
of sickness or something.' That other chap was a bit thinner and paler
than you are."
"He's a regular cigarette fiend, and that is, I think, what makes him
look pale," put in Roger. And then he added quickly: "Do you
remember--was he smoking?"
"Yes, he was. He threw a cigarette stub away while he was trying on
the shoes, and then lit another cigarette when he was going out. I
thought at the time that he was probably smoking more than was good
for him."
"I don't smoke at all, and never have done so," said Dave. He turned
to his chum. "I think the fact that the fellow who got the shoes was
smoking is additional proof that it was Porton."
"I haven't the slightest idea that it was anybody else," answered the
senator's son.
Mr. Wecks promised to keep on the lookout for Ward Porton, in case
that individual showed himself again, and then Dave and Roger left.
"I'm going into all the stores where I do business and tell the folks
to be on the watch for Ward Porton," said our hero.
"A good idea, Dave. But see here! How are they going to tell him from
you?" and the senator's son chuckled. "You may come along some day and
they may hold you, thinking you are Porton."
"I thought of that, Roger, and I'll leave each of them my signature on
a card. I know that Ward Porton doesn't write as I do."
This idea was followed out, the boys spending the best part of an hour
in going around Coburntown. Then they drove back to Crumville, and
there Dave visited some other establishments with which he was in the
habit of doing business.
All the storekeepers were much interested in what he had to tell, and
all readily agreed to have Ward Porton detained if he should show
himself. At each place Dave left his signature, so that there might be
no further mistake regarding his identity.
After that several days passed quietly. Both Dave and Roger were
applying themselves to their studies, and as a consequence saw little
of Ben except in the evenings, when all the young folks would get
together for more or less of a good time.
"Any more news about that fortune in Chicago?" asked Dave, one
evening of the Basswood lad.
"Not very much," answered Ben. "Father telegraphed that he was hunting
for some things that belonged to Mr. Enos. He said that as soon as he
found them he would tell us all about it."
"That certainly is a strange state of affairs."
"Strange? I should say it was!" cried the other. "Mother and I are
just dying to know what it all means. One thing is certain--Mr. Enos
did not leave his fortune in stocks or bonds or real estate, or
anything like that."
On the following day came additional trouble for Dave in the shape of
a communication from a hotel-keeper in Coburntown. He stated that he
had heard through Asa Dickley that Dave was having trouble with a
party who was impersonating him, and added that a person calling
himself Dave Porter was owing him a bill of fifteen dollars for five
days' board.
"Isn't this the limit?" cried Dave, as he showed the letter to his
father and his Uncle Dunston.
"No use in talking, Dave, we'll have to get after that rascal,"
announced the father. "If we don't, there is no telling how far he'll
carry this thing. I think I'll put the authorities on his track."
Two days after that, and while Dave was continuing his studies as
diligently as ever, came word over the telephone from Clayton.
"Is this you, Dave Porter?" came over the wire.
"Yes," answered our hero. "Who are you?"
"This is Nat Poole talking. I am up here in Clayton--in the First
National Bank. You know my father got me a job here last week."
"No, I didn't know it, Nat. But I'm glad to hear you have something to
do, and I hope you'll make a success of it," returned Dave promptly.
"I called you up to find out if you were in Clayton," continued the
son of the money lender. "I wanted to make sure of it."
"Well, I'm not. I'm right here at home, Nat."
"Then, in that case, I want to tell you that the fellow who looks like
you is here."
"Where do you mean--in the bank?"
"Well, he came in here to get a five-dollar bill changed. I happened
to see him as he was going out and I called to him, thinking it was
you. When I called he seemed to get scared, and he got out in a hurry.
Then I happened to think about that fellow who looked like you, and I
made up my mind I'd call you up."
"How long ago since he was in the bank?" questioned Dave, eagerly.
"Not more than ten minutes ago. I tried to get you sooner but the wire
was busy."
"You haven't any idea where he went?"
"No, except that he started down the side street next to the bank,
which, as maybe you know, runs towards the river."
"All right, Nat. Thank you very much for what you've told me. I want
to locate that fellow if I possibly can. He is a swindler, and if you
clap eyes on him again have him arrested," added Dave; and this Nat
Poole promised to do.
The news over the wire excited Dave not a little. Of the men of the
household, only old Professor Potts was in, and he, of course, could
not assist in the matter. Dave at once sought out Mrs. Wadsworth and
told her of what he had heard.
"I think I'll drive to Clayton and see if I can locate Porton," he
added. "Roger says he will go with me."
"Do as you think best, Dave," answered the lady of the house. "But do
keep out of trouble! This Ward Porton may prove to be a dangerous
character if you attempt to corner him."
"I think Roger and I can manage him, if only we can find him,"
returned the youth.
Once more the black horse and the cutter were brought into service,
and the two youths made the best possible time on the snowy highway
that led through Coburntown to Clayton. Arriving there, they called
at the bank and interviewed Nat Poole.
"If what you say about Porton is true he certainly must be a bad
one--almost as bad as Merwell and Jasniff," was the comment of the
money lender's son. "I certainly hope you spot him and bring him to
book. That's the way he went the last I saw of him," he added,
pointing down the side street.
Dave and Roger drove down the street looking to the right and the left
for a possible sight of Ward Porton. But their search was doomed to
disappointment for the moving-picture actor was nowhere to be seen.
"It's a good deal like looking for a needle in a haystack," was the
comment of the senator's son, after a full hour had been spent in the
hunt.
They had left the sleigh and had walked around a number of mills and
tenement houses which were situated in that locality.
"I've got an idea," said Dave, as several children approached them.
"I'm going to ask the youngsters if they've seen a young man who looks
like me."
The first boys and girls to whom the subject was broached shook their
heads and declared they had seen nobody that resembled Dave. Then our
hero and his chum passed on to other children, and finally to some
men working around a newly-constructed tenement.
"Why sure! I saw a young feller wot looked like you," said a youth who
was piling up some lumber. "He ast me fer a match. Say! he looked like
he could have been your twin," he added in wonder; and then continued
suddenly: "Maybe youse is playin' a trick on me, and it was youse got
the match?"
"No, I never met you before," answered Dave, quickly. "When did you
meet the other fellow, and where? I am very anxious to locate him."
"It was down on de bridge, about an hour ago. I was comin' dis way,
and he was goin' de udder way."
"Was he smoking a cigarette?" asked Roger.
"He had one o' de coffin-nails in his hand and he lit up after I given
him de match."
"Did he say anything?" questioned our hero.
The carpenter's helper scratched his head for a moment. "Sure he did!
He ast me if it was putty good walkin' to Bixter. I told him 'putty
fair,' and den he went on and I came here."
"Then he must have gone on to Bixter!" cried Roger. "How far is that
from here?"
"About two miles and a half," answered Dave. He turned to the
carpenter's helper. "Much obliged to you."
"Dat's all right. Say! but dat guy certainly looks like you," the
carpenter's helper added, with a grin.
"Come, we'll follow him," said Dave to his chum, and led the way on
the run to where the horse was tied.
Soon they were in the cutter once more. Dave urged the black along at
his best speed, and over the bridge they flew, and then along the road
leading to the village of Bixter.