“No use--I can’t sleep a morning like this!”
Chip Merriwell jumped out of bed and went to the window. It was early
Sunday morning, and from the room at the hotel which he and Clancy
occupied he had a clear view of the village green, the streets leading
on down toward the river, and the green opposite slope of the valley
beyond.
The air was heavy with apple blossoms, warm with spring richness, and
Frank drank it in eagerly. From somewhere about the place he heard the
pur of a motor car, but could see nothing of the machine.
“I don’t believe I can stay indoors,” he sighed softly, and turned to
where his clothes lay on a chair.
Indeed, the morning was a perfect one. The little town lay still,
deserted, apparently empty of all life. Yet its streets were clothed
with freshness, and its feathery-leaved trees were green with new
spring life. From the fruit orchards that hedged Carsonville there
drifted renewed sweetness on every breeze.
Chip glanced at his chum, but Clancy was sleeping the sleep of the
just. The red-haired chap put in his daytime most energetically, and
when he slept he did it with just as much vigor.
“I’ll let him pound his ear,” smiled Chip, as he flung on his clothes,
impatient to be outdoors. “Anyway, I’d just as soon have a walk all by
myself for a change. I’ve a good notion to go down and take a dip in
the mill pond, by gracious!”
At thought of the cool, inviting waters of the river, which he had
explored with the aid of Billy Mac, he finished his dressing hurriedly.
The hotel was still dead to the world, and Frank quietly let himself
out into the silent corridor.
Downstairs, however, he found the clerk sweeping out the office. The
clerk looked up with a cheery greeting and a wide grin, for Chip was
already a popular hero in Carsonville, after the game of the day before.
“Up early, ain’t you?”
“Too fine a morning to sleep,” said Chip. “What’s that machine I heard
buzzing around?”
“The garage is down the street a ways,” explained the clerk, leaning on
his broom. “They’ve got one machine there for hire. Want to get it?”
“No, thanks,” and Frank laughed. “I was only mildly curious. Clancy’s
car is all right?”
“Sure, I seen it out in the back yard only just now.”
Merry nodded and passed on to the veranda. At sight of the upturned
chairs he was attacked by sudden laziness, and with a yawn turned
over one of the chairs and seated himself, drinking in the clear air
greedily.
“Mornings like this make life worth living,” he reflected contentedly.
“I’ll wager that if folks knew how good these early spring mornings
were, they’d go to bed earlier and get up earlier. It’s worth all the
rest of the day!”
He sprawled out comfortably. He was still weary with his stiff game
of the previous afternoon, and his long evening following, and soon
realized that if he sat here very long he would be fast asleep once
more. So, after five minutes, he forced himself to rise.
“I never thought I’d be getting lazy!” he murmured. “Well, down to the
river and have a quick dip, then a rest on the long grass, and back to
rout Clan out in time for breakfast.”
He paused as he reached the steps, for he caught sight of a solitary
figure that seemed to be approaching the Morton House.
The figure was that of a farmer, but this signified nothing in
Carsonville, where every one owned farms or orchards, or else worked in
them. The man was tall, round-shouldered, and his face was decorated
with a yellowish wisp of beard. He seemed to be a powerful fellow, Chip
thought.
As he approached the hotel, Merry caught sight of the man’s face. It
was not exactly a pleasant one, for the eyes were very close set, and
there was a general look of shrewd cunning about the man which was not
reassuring.
Frank would not have noticed him, had the man not been inspecting him
rather closely as he drew near. It occurred to Merry that the fellow
might be looking for him.
“Good morning!” he exclaimed. “This is certainly great spring weather,
eh?”
“Purty good,” and the man looked him over curiously. “Say, mister,
mebbe you kin tell me if there’s a feller at the hotel by the name o’
Merriwell? Frank Merriwell, I guess the front part of it is.”
Merry wondered. Without any undue self-glorification, he thought it odd
that the man did not know him, for every soul in town had witnessed the
game of the previous day. He himself had come in for a good deal of
attention.
“I believe he’s stopping here,” he said. “In fact, you happen to be
talking to him at this moment. Why?”
“Well, now!” The man stared up. “Are you him?”
“I’m it,” laughed Frank. “Anything I can do for you?”
“Why, I was down to the railroad dee-po jest now, when a tellygram come
in fer a feller o’ that name. The agent, he couldn’t come up very well,
so I said I’d fetch it along and see if you was here.”
While he spoke, the man began fishing in the pocket of his overalls,
and at last pulled out a yellow envelope. Merry took it with a nod. He
knew that there was no regular telegraph office in the little town,
messages being handled from the railroad station, so he thought little
of the matter.
“Well, I’m much obliged to you for your trouble,” he said, taking out a
quarter as the man handed him the message. “If you’ll take----”
“No, thanks, mister,” and the man turned away without taking the money.
“I couldn’t take nothin’, thanks. So long.”
“So long,” said Frank.
He tore open the message, as the man slouched away down the street.
It was a typewritten message, and had evidently been received at
Carsonville some ten minutes previously.
“By gracious!” he said. “What the deuce has struck Uncle Dick, anyhow?
And where or what is Orton?”
This was the message that caused him so much wonder:
FRANK MERRIWELL, JUNIOR, Carsonville: Have your father meet me
not later than nine, Sunday morning, Orton. Very important. Keep
destination secret.
UNCLE DICK.
Merry stared down at it, frowning. There must be a place named Orton,
though he knew of none in the vicinity. But what was Dick Merriwell
doing there?
He turned at a step, to find the clerk sweeping out the refuse through
the doorway of the hotel. Chip knew that he would be able to get
information at once, and spoke.
“Where is Orton? Is that any place near here?”
“Orton? Sure, Mr. Merriwell!” The clerk jerked his thumb over across
the valley. “It ain’t what you might call a metropolis, nohow, but it’s
got a smithy and a couple o’ stores and a schoolhouse. Thinkin’ o’
goin’ over there?”
Frank started. Going over there! Why, of course!
“How far is it from here?” he queried.
“About fifteen mile by road, I take it. ’Bout ten, as the crow flies.”
While the clerk paused to stare at him curiously, Merry considered.
If his uncle was at Orton, he must be expecting his father to meet
him there. But Frank Merriwell, senior, had returned home on the late
train! And Dick had stated that it was very important, so there was but
one thing to do.
“Clan hasn’t waked up yet,” thought Chip, “so I guess I won’t disturb
him. I’ll go down and see if I can get that garage machine, and if it’s
taken then I can rouse up Clancy and get the _Hornet_ buzzing.”
He turned to the clerk, with quick decision, shoving the telegram into
his pocket.
“Yes, I just received a telegram----” he stopped, remembering the
admonition in that telegram. “But, by the way, I’d rather you wouldn’t
say anything to any one about my going to Orton, will you?”
“Sure not,” assented the clerk at once.
“Tell Clancy that I’ll be back before noon,” went on Merry, turning.
“I’ll get a car if I can, and be back by then, easily. Much obliged to
you!”
“You got a good morning for the trip,” called the clerk after him.
“Good luck!”
Chip waved his hand in return, and walked down the street toward the
garage. He glanced about for the messenger, but doubtless the man had
returned to the station, and he sighed.
“I see where I don’t get that early swim this morning! Well, that’s
what comes of a fellow having a family!”
And with a whimsical grimace he saw the garage ahead of him. In front
was an old-fashioned but comfortable-looking car, with a young fellow
busily engaged in washing it off.
“Must be expecting Sunday traffic,” thought Frank. “That looks a
whole lot better than Clan’s bumpy old scrap heap, just the same.
Six-cylinder, too, so probably she can go some.”
Approaching the washer, he inquired if the car was for rent. The young
fellow hailed the proprietor of the garage, inside, and the latter came
out and nodded to Chip at once.
“You’re young Merriwell, ain’t you? I seen that game yesterday, by
thunder! Is it you who wants to get a car?”
“I want to go over to Orton and back,” said Merry, “if your car’s for
rent.”
“For rent? To you?” A wide grin came over the man’s face. “Say,
Merriwell, you couldn’t rent no car off’n me, not if you was to offer
me a cold million dollars!”
“Eh!” Merry looked at him in astonishment. “What do you mean?”
“Anybody that lays over Colonel Carson like you did yesterday, son, can
have my car when he wants it, see? No, don’t do any hollering. I won’t
take no pay, except for gas and the chauffeur. Just expenses. You’ll
have to get back by noon, though. I only got the one car, and it’s
engaged for the afternoon.”
Finding that the man was absolutely earnest in his refusal to take
money, Chip assented.
“We’ll be back as soon as we can reach Orton and turn around,” he said,
getting into the car. “And I’m much obliged to you, sir!”
“Pleasure’s all mine, son,” returned the other, with a grand air.