WHAT HAPPENED IN THE NIGHT
That evening the sole topic of conversation at Bear Camp was the news
concerning Dave. The other lads could not bear to question Laura or
Jessie on the subject, knowing how badly both of them must feel; but
they asked Belle to tell all she knew, and also quizzed Mrs. Wadsworth
and Mrs. Basswood.
"It's the worst state of affairs I have ever known," was the way the
jewelry manufacturer's wife expressed herself, in private to Roger and
Phil. "We, as you know, think the world and all of Dave, and we don't
want him to drop back and become a nobody, even in name. He is a
splendid boy, and no matter what happens we shall always think as much
of him as we ever did."
"I think all his friends will stick to him," answered Roger. "At the
same time, this will cut him to the heart; and what he'll do if they
really prove he isn't Dave Porter, I don't know."
"Maybe the Porters will continue to keep him in the family as an adopted
son," suggested Phil. "That is, if this report really proves to be true,
which I don't believe will happen."
"I have always thought a great deal of Dave, ever since he saved Jessie
from that gasoline explosion," returned Mrs. Wadsworth. "Should they
find out that he is not a Porter, I think I would be strongly in favor
of my husband adopting him."
"Say, that wouldn't be half bad!" burst out Phil, "and the suggestion
does you credit, Mrs. Wadsworth. Personally, I think Dave is the finest
fellow in the world."
"I am sure we all think that," added Roger. "Since he went to Oak Hall
he has made a host of real friends, and I don't think one of them will
desert him."
While this conversation was going on, the other boys were talking to our
hero, doing their best to cheer him up and to convince him that, no
matter what happened, they would stick to him.
"You take it from me," declared Luke, "this is some scheme gotten up by
Link Merwell and this other fellow!"
"Certainly it's a scheme!" added Shadow. "It puts me in mind of a story
I once heard about a fellow down South who stole three watermelons,
and----But, oh, pshaw! what's the use of trying to tell a story now? I'm
going to cut them out until we get this thing settled," he added, in
disgust.
"Don't you worry, Dave. I am sure it will come out all right in the
end," was what Ben said, speaking with an apparent conviction that he
did not by any means feel.
"You're all kind, fellows, and I appreciate it very much," answered
Dave. "But this is a blow to me. If you'll excuse me, I'd like to take a
little walk by myself and think it over." And thus speaking, the youth
withdrew from the crowd, and walked slowly to the lake and along a
footpath bordering the shore.
"It's the rankest shame I ever knew!" declared Ben, when the others were
left to themselves. "If I had that Ward Porton here I'd wring his neck."
"I guess we'd all like to do that," responded Shadow. "Nevertheless, if
he is the real Dave Porter you can't blame him for trying to prove it."
"There is only one thing about it that troubles me," said Luke. "Don't
you remember that all of those who saw this Ward Porton agreed that he
looked very much like Mr. Dunston Porter?"
"Yes, but Dave looks like Dunston Porter, too," came quickly from Ben.
"It's queer that he resembles his uncle more than he does his father,"
was Shadow's comment. "Maybe this Ward Porton resembles Mr. David
Porter."
"Well, it's fierce; that's all I've got to say," declared Ben. "And what
Dave is going to do if they prove he isn't the real Dave Porter is
something I don't like to think about. In those days when we first went
to Oak Hall, you'll remember how bitter he felt when some of his enemies
referred to him as that 'poorhouse nobody,' and how eager he was to
clear up the mystery of his identity, even though it cost him a trip to
the South Sea Islands."
Dave walked on and on along the lake shore, paying little attention to
where he was going. His mind was in a state bordering on bewilderment.
In a faint, uncertain way he had anticipated some such calamity, but now
that the blow had fallen, the matter looked almost hopeless to him. Had
he followed his own inclinations, he would have made preparations to
return to Crumville at once.
"But evidently they don't want me there," he told himself, bitterly.
"They want to solve this mystery without my interference. And if they do
make up their minds that I am not the real Dave Porter, I wonder how
they will treat me? Of course, they may be very kind to me--the same as
Laura and Jessie and the others up here. But kindness of that sort isn't
everything. I don't want any one to support me if I haven't some claim
on him." And then Dave shut his teeth hard, clenched his hands, and
walked on faster than ever.
Finally tired out because he had been on his feet since early morning,
Dave sat down on a flat rock to rest. As he did this, he heard the
put-put of a motor, and presently around a bend of the shore showed the
headlight of Mr. Appleby's motor-boat.
"I wonder if they are simply going down to the end of the lake, or
whether they are going to stop at our place," said Dave, to himself.
"I'd rather they wouldn't stop at Bear Camp to-night, when everything is
so upset."
As the motor-boat swung around, the headlight flashed full upon our hero
and there followed an exclamation from the manager of the moving-picture
company, who was at the wheel of the craft, with two men beside him.
"Hello there, Porter! What are you doing--fishing?"
"No, I just came down here to sit on the rock and do a little thinking,"
answered Dave.
"We are making a little trip around the lake," went on Mr. Appleby. "I
was going to stop at your dock and deliver a letter that came in our
mail by mistake. It's a letter for you, so I might as well give it to
you now."
"A letter for me, eh?" answered Dave.
"Yes, here you are!" went on Mr. Appleby, as the motor-boat came to a
standstill close by. "I'll put it in the newspaper and you can have that
too, as we have read it;" and suiting the action to the word, the man
placed the letter in the folds of the paper and tossed the latter
ashore.
"Will you stop?" questioned Dave.
"Not to-night. We are going to make a call on the other side of the
lake. I just thought I'd give you the letter, that's all," and then,
with a pleasant good-bye, the manager steered his motor-boat out into
Mirror Lake again.
It was too dark to read the letter without a light, and as Dave did not
happen to have even a match, he walked back to the bungalows. The
lanterns were hung out on the porches as was the custom, and under the
light of one of these he looked at the communication he had received.
"It's from Crumville!" he exclaimed to himself, eagerly, as he looked at
the postmark. But then, as he recognized the handwriting, his face fell.
"It's only from Nat Poole."
The communication from the money-lender's son was a long one, containing
much news which it will be unnecessary to give here. There was, however,
one paragraph in the letter which Dave read with great interest.
"I am sorry if you put yourselves out trying to catch that
wild man thinking he was my Uncle Wilbur. As I told you, my
uncle got away from the sanitarium and they had quite a job
to locate him. They found him up in the vicinity of Oak
Hall, at one of the houses where he had once stayed. They
got him to return to the sanitarium without any trouble, and
the doctors think that he is now doing finely."
"Hello, Dave! what are you reading?" remarked Roger, coming up.
"Here's a letter from Nat Poole," and our hero told how he had received
it. "You can read it for yourself. They have found Wilbur Poole, and
have put him back in the sanitarium."
"Is that so? Well, I am glad they caught him." And then Roger read the
letter, and went off to spread the news among the other boys.
The next day was a long one for Dave. While Ben and Luke went to Carpen
Falls with a letter directed to Phil's father, he spent part of the time
dressing the two deer. But his heart was not in the work, and his
friends noted his absent-mindedness. Several times he looked down in the
direction of the trail leading to Carpen Falls, and they knew he was
hoping for some messenger to appear, summoning him to come to Crumville.
"It makes me sick to see Dave so downcast," whispered Ben to Roger, that
evening. "I wish we could cheer him up."
"I don't see how we are going to do it. We can't lift that burden from
his mind. We have simply got to wait until some word comes from the
Porters at Crumville. I don't believe they'll keep Dave waiting any
longer than necessary."
"But think of the terrible suspense!"
"I know it. It's too bad!"
The afternoon had been cloudy, and late in the evening it began to rain.
Then the wind came up, moaning through the forest in melancholy fashion
and sending thousands of whitecaps across the surface of the lake.
"It isn't Mirror Lake to-night," said Belle, with a little shiver. "It's
more like Foamy Lake."
"I don't think I'd want to go out in a canoe to-night," returned Phil,
who was beside her.
"I think we are going to have quite a storm," said Laura. "Just listen
to that wind!"
With fitful gusts tearing around the bungalows, no one felt much like
going to bed. About ten o'clock came a hard downpour, lasting for half
an hour. Then the wind died away, and gradually the rain ceased.
"I guess the worst of it is over," announced Mrs. Wadsworth, presently.
"I think we may as well retire." And shortly after that all of the
inmates of both bungalows were in bed.
For a long while Dave could not sleep. As had been the case the night
previous, he tumbled and tossed on his couch, thinking of the trouble
that had come to him. But at last tired nature claimed its own, and he
sank into a profound slumber, from which he did not awaken until some
time after sunrise.
"Hello! I must have overslept," he declared, as he leaped up, to see
that his chums were almost dressed.
Dave was just finishing his toilet, and the other boys and some of the
girls had started to walk down to the dock to look at the lake, when a
cry came from the kitchen of the bungalow.
"Mrs. Wadsworth! Mr. Porter!" came a call from the hired girl. "Please
come here!"
"What is it, Mary?" asked Mrs. Wadsworth, as she appeared from her own
room.
"Sure, ma'am, a whole lot of things are missing!" declared the girl.
"Missing! What is missing?"
"Sure, ma'am, almost everything in the kitchen is missing, ma'am!" and
the girl pointed around in a helpless sort of fashion. "All the knives
and forks and spoons are gone! And so are some of the pots and pans and
kettles!"
"Is that possible?"
"Yes, ma'am. And that ain't all, ma'am. Sure, and most of the things in
the pantry and in the ice-box are gone, too!" announced Mary, running
from one place to another. "Sure, ma'am, we've been burglarized,
ma'am!"