“Great morning, Chip!”
Clancy was drowsily looking out of the window. His eyes had just
opened, and he had not yet observed the absence of his chum.
“Wake up and take a look at things, you lazy----”
Clan turned over to give Merry a punch, then suddenly sat up.
“Well, by Jupiter!” he gasped.
He noticed for the first time that his chum’s clothes had disappeared,
as well as Chip himself. Then he turned toward the window, hearing a
church bell ringing sweetly across the valley, and noticed the maturity
of the morning.
“Jumping whippoorwills! I must have overslept a whole lot----”
At that moment there came a sudden, furious knocking on the door.
Clancy paused, half out of bed, and poised a pillow to fling as the
door opened.
“Come in!” he yelled. “I’m not deaf. Come in, you imitation of a real
man! You don’t fool me, Chip Merriwell----Wow! Get out o’ here!”
Clancy had thought that it was his chum, but as the door opened wide
his voice shot up to a shrill yell. For there, looking in with rolling
eyes, was one of the two negresses who acted as waitresses and bell
boys at the hotel.
“Get out o’ here!” shrilled Clan, pulling the bedclothes around
him. “Can’t you hear? Shut that door! What d’you think I am, a
moving-picture show?”
The door shut. From the outside came the voice of the startled negress:
“Ah thought yo’ said to come in, suh. Ah suttinly did!”
“I was wrong,” retorted Clancy, grinning in spite of himself. “I meant
to say go climb up the flagpole and kill flies. What do you want?”
“Why, suh, dar’s a gem’man downsta’rs askin’ foh yo’ an Mistuh
Merriwell.”
“What’s his name, and what time is it?”
“It’s dat ar McQuade boy. It’s ten o’clock, suh.”
“Send him up,” and Clancy leaped for his clothes. “Great Scott! Ten
o’clock! Say, there must be something in this Carsonville air! I
haven’t slept as late as this for a month of Sundays.”
He tore open his suit case, and went into dressing with such furious
energy that the room was filled with baseball uniforms and sections of
underwear and clean shirts when Billy flung open the door.
“What’s goin’ on here?” demanded the astonished Billy Mac.
“Me, mostly,” said Clancy. “Where’s Chip?”
“How do I know? Say, are you just getting up?”
“No!” roared Clancy, half into a clean shirt. “I’m sitting on Brooklyn
Bridge making mince pie, you bonehead!”
“Oh, don’t let me disturb you,” said Billy sarcastically. “If you
haven’t got your beauty sleep, old sorrel top, go right back to bed.
It’s only ten o’clock, and I thought maybe you’d like to take a sunrise
swim down in the mill pond.”
Clancy cut these remarks short by seizing a pillow and letting fly.
Billy was sent back into the corner, and came up grinning.
“Where’s Chip?”
“Look under the bed,” retorted Clancy. “I just woke up. I suppose he’s
dug out for the river himself. There’s no sign of a bathroom around
this jay hotel.”
“What d’you expect for three dollars a week? There, leave off that
white shirt, Clan! We’ll go down to the crick and meet Chip, then come
back here and dress.”
This program suited Clancy to perfection. On their way down to the
street, however, he stopped and asked the clerk whether Chip had left
any message for him.
“Sure, Mr. Clancy. Said he’d be back before noon.”
“Huh? And when was that?”
“A little before seven this morning.”
“Holy smoke!” cried Clancy. “Before seven! Then Merry’s been gone for
three hours, Billy! He isn’t down at the river, you boob!”
“Quit calling names,” retorted Billy, a trace of anxiety in his clear
eyes. “It didn’t improve your manners to go West, I reckon. Sure, we’ll
go down and see, anyhow. He might be asleep in the sun down there.”
Clancy asked the clerk if he knew where Merry had gone. The clerk,
mindful of Chip’s injunction, said that he “couldn’t say,” and the two
friends went off toward the river in helpless wonderment.
Billy said nothing, but he was not a little worried. Clancy suspected
nothing wrong, though he knew that it was not Chip’s usual custom to
disappear without leaving any word of where he had gone.
Upon reaching the mill pond they found no sign of Merry. Clancy scoffed
at the fears of his friend, so they stripped and took a hasty dip, then
dressed and made their way back to the hotel.
“If he don’t show up pretty soon,” said Billy, “mother will be all
balled up with her chicken dinner, Clan.”
“Well, we aren’t going to wait for him,” said Clancy firmly. “I want
that chicken dinner, believe me! We’ll give him half an hour, then
we’ll load into the _Hornet_ and go up to your house. Maybe he’s there
now.”
Mrs. McQuade had been requested to prepare an early dinner, as the
three friends intended returning to Fardale in the _Hornet_ that
afternoon. So promptly at eleven-thirty Clancy got out his car and
ordered the reluctant Billy to climb in. Since there was a strong
possibility that Merriwell was at the McQuade house, Billy finally
obeyed.
“Nothing could happen to him,” scoffed Clancy, as they climbed the
hill. “He’s off on a walk, that’s all, and probably has gone to sleep
on the shady side of a tree.”
Mrs. McQuade had seen nothing of Merry, and since her dinner was all
ready and waiting, she put aside a generous portion to keep warm for
Chip and insisted on Clancy and Billy pitching in at once.
They did so, but as the meal progressed Clancy began to feel the same
anxiety that was worrying his friend. Finally he asked Mrs. McQuade to
hold her pies in the oven for a little.
“Billy and I will run back to the hotel. He might be there, or on the
way.”
The two jumped into the _Hornet_, and Clancy hit only the high spots
until they drew up before the hotel. A man came down the steps, and
Clancy recognized him as the garage proprietor.
“Say, Mr. Clancy, where’s Mr. Merriwell?”
“Isn’t he here?”
“No,” returned the man, in a worried voice. “I got that auto rented
this afternoon, and----”
“Auto!” yelled Billy. “Did he rent your auto?”
“Why, sure! Didn’t you know that?”
“Not yet, I didn’t!” snapped Clancy. He wakened abruptly to the fact
that there must be something seriously wrong. “When was this?”
“About seven o’clock.”
“Where did he go to?”
The garage proprietor hesitated.
“Well, last thing he says was not to say anything. But mebbe you boys
could go and see if anything’s wrong. Anyhow, you’re his pals, so I
reckon he wouldn’t mind me tellin’ you so much. He went over to Orton,
or said he was goin’ there.”
“What the deuce was he going to Orton for?” queried Billy, in
astonishment. “Why, there’s nothing there but a schoolhouse and a
smithy!”
Clancy frowned. He looked to see the clerk coming down toward them in a
hesitant way, having heard the conversation.
“There ain’t nothin’ wrong, is there?” inquired the clerk.
“Seems to be,” and Clancy gave him a sharp look. “Didn’t Merry say he
was going to Orton?”
“Oh, you know about it, then?” said the clerk, looking relieved. “Why,
yes, the telegram come from Orton, I think he said----”
“What’s the matter with you?” sang out Billy. “There’s no telegraph
station at Orton, and you know it! Did he tell you that?”
“Well, he got a telegram, then he started askin’ me about Orton,”
returned the clerk. “I didn’t ask no questions, so I don’t know where
it come from. He seemed rather fussed, though.”
“There’s something wrong, Clancy,” murmured Billy, leaning over and
speaking in a low voice. “It isn’t like Chip to go off like that.”
“No,” agreed Clancy, “that’s not his regular trail at all.”
He turned to the garage proprietor.
“Don’t worry about the car, sir. We’ll do a little inquiring around
here, and then start out after it. But whatever loss you incur will be
made good.”
“I wouldn’t give a whoop,” explained the man, “only I’d promised the
car for this afternoon to another party. Far’s I’m concerned, Merriwell
could have the car out all day without payin’ a cent. But I hate to
disappoint folks.”
“Well, we’ll see what can be done,” said Clancy. “How far to this
place?”
“Fifteen miles or less. The roads ain’t none too good, but it ain’t a
long ride at all. The car was in good shape, too.”
“H’m!” grunted Clan. “Mighty funny if it’d take a car five hours for
that! But he might have had a breakdown somewhere. It’d be a good play
to run out and take a look at Orton, Billy.”
“Better look at that telegram first, Clan.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Because we might learn something.”
“Where’s the office here?”
“At the depot. But I’d bet you thirteen thousand dollars and fifty
cents that we’ll find there hasn’t been any message for Chip received.”
“Say, what’s got into you?” queried Clancy. “Too much chicken pie?”
“Oh, you know same’s I do, only you won’t say it,” sniffed Billy
forebodingly. “It’s foul play, Clan. Merry has helped me, and those
Carsons are getting even with him, that’s what it is!”
“Well, I’m beginning to think so myself, all right,” said Clan soberly.
“Only I didn’t want to scare you out.”