FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS
Ben stared in a stupefied way at the money, then at the smiling face
of his friend, and then at his mother.
“You’re joking, Bob,” he said.
“Does that money look like a joke?” demanded Bob Dallow. “Here,
that’s your share, two hundred dollars. Count it, and then I’ll tell
you how this little fortune came to travel down to Woodville with me.”
Bob removed the banknotes from one flap of the pocketbook and pushed
them across the table to Ben. The latter merely fumbled them. He was
fairly stunned at the sensational actions of his relative.
“It’s all along of that whistle of yours, just as I said,” declared
Bob. “When I left here two months ago it was to take a job as
chauffeur, you remember.”
“Yes,” nodded Ben.
“It was an easy job and a paying one, so easy that I began to get
fat and lazy. The man I worked for had a lot of sporty friends,
and they got to be such wild company I concluded to strike out for
something better. I got word of a nice family at Springfield wanting
a chauffeur. When I got there I found the place filled. I hadn’t much
ready cash in my pocket. I’d made fine wages, but I spent it laying
in a good stock of clothes. At the end of the week I was pretty
near at the end of my rope financially. One evening I was consoling
myself driving away the blues with some cheerful tunes on one of your
whistles, when a big idea struck me.”
“About the whistle?” inquired Ben.
“Just that. When I began outlining plans for making my fortune out
of the little device, so many ideas came to me that I began to think
I was a natural born promoter. Well, the next morning I swept away
all the dreamy schemes from the proposition and went to work in a
sensible business-like way.”
“What did you do, Bob?”
“I knew a young lawyer in Springfield, and I was sure he would give
me his opinion free gratis. He did. After he had heard my story,
and had inspected the whistle, and had looked up what he called
authorities on the subject, he told me he didn’t believe a patent on
the whistle would hold water.”
“Oh, dear!” commented Ben.
“Even if it would, he said the whistle, being a mere passing
novelty, would soon peg out. He advised me to find somebody who would
take the whole business off my hands for a bulk sum—some one who ran
a sort of supply headquarters for cheap novelties. That started me
on a new tangent. I finally ran across the ideal person—a sort of
padrone fellow who hired poor foreigners on a commission. I went to
him fully prepared though.”
“How was that Bob?” asked Ben.
“Why, I knew he or somebody else would steal the whistle idea if it
struck them favorably, unless I made a tangible show of controlling
the situation. I made a real impressive looking drawing of the
whistle—sectional view and all that, you know. Then I went to a big
hardware factory and got a written estimate on the whistle in ten
thousand lots.”
“Whew!” ejaculated Ben admiringly.
“Oh, I’m no cheap man when I get started,” vaunted Bob, with a
laugh. “The name of the padrone was Vladimir. When I went to him, I
had the drawing and the contract and a lot of big talk all ready.
The man was interested at once. He heard me play on the whistle,
tried it himself, didn’t make much progress, and then shook his
head dubiously. Then he called in half a dozen fellows. They were
musicians in his employ—mostly hurdy-gurdy men. They all tried the
whistle. Four of them got onto the knack at once. Then I made my star
hit.”
“How was that?”
“I suggested that he send out a team—organ and whistle—and tab
results. The thing went grandly. The next morning, after a lot of
dickering, Vladimir gave me four hundred dollars for the outfit.”
“Bob, you are a genius,” remarked Mrs. Hardy.
“Does the price suit you, Mr. Inventor?” inquired the other, “or did
I sell too cheap?”
“Cheap!” cried Ben. “Think of it! All that money mine! What will I
ever do with it?”
“Why, invest it in a new invention, of course,” cried Bob. “Make it
your working capital, and get out something finer and finer till you
rival Edison.”
“You’re poking fun at me,” declared Ben. “The whistle was a mere
trifle, and an accident. I may know how to handle a few machine
tools, but I’m no real inventor, Bob Dallow. Of course——”
Ben paused abruptly. His eyes sparkled as a sudden idea came to him.
Quick-witted Bob eyed him keenly. “Go ahead, Ben,” he ordered, “of
course what?”
“Oh, I was just thinking some foolishness,” answered Ben, with a
conscious flush.
“What foolishness?” persisted Bob.
“Well then, airships.”
“Eh—what’s that?” demanded Bob.
“Why, Ben!” murmured his mother.
“What put airships in your head?” pressed Bob, with a token of real
curiosity and interest in manner and voice.
“Well, I saw a man to-day who set me wild over them,” confessed Ben
bluntly. “He is a real airship man himself. He had a book on airships
full of drawings, and he has invited me to the airship meet at
Blairville next week.”
Bob Dallow stared hard at Ben as the latter spoke this outburst.
“Well, well,” he said slowly, but forcibly, “you’ve got them, haven’t
you? So have I. Invited to the meet at Blairville? Why, that’s where
I’ve got my new job.”
“You have?” exclaimed Ben.
“Yes. Don’t look as if we’ve both gone dreaming, Aunt Mary,” said
Bob to his hostess, with a merry laugh, “I’m hit, too. Tell you,
I’ve figured out a system. I’ve made up my mind to keep up with the
procession as it passes along. The automobile was a good stunt while
it was fresh. Too common for enterprising fellows now, though. It’s
all the new fad—airships. I’m headed for it strong. Yes, I’ve got a
chance for work at Blairville, and I’m to report for duty to-morrow.”
“What’s your airship man’s name, Bob?” inquired Ben.
“John Davis.”
“Why, that’s the name of my friend, too,” exclaimed Ben animatedly.
“Say, isn’t this a queer coincidence?”
Ben handed his money to his mother to keep for him. Then there was
a regular “powwow” between the two boys. For nearly an hour there
was a constant chorus of such words as aeroplanes, monoplanes,
high speeders, air cars, aerials, aeratoriums, ultra violet rays,
upper air mains, barographs and other technical terms, most of them
proceeding from Bob, who it seemed had studied up aeronautics, and
had acquired a smart smattering of aerial science in general. Then
incidentally the conversation reverted back to the whistle, and Ben
alluded to the two musicians he had seen playing near the public
square.
“That starts me,” declared Bob, springing to his feet. “They are two
of Vladimir’s men, and I have a curiosity to find out how they are
doing with the Sybilline.”
The two friends went out to the street together. Two squares
traversed they separated, Bob, to hunt for the street musicians, Ben
to go to the automobile works to join his father.
“You will come back to the house, of course, Bob?” asked Ben.
“I should say I would—if I am invited.”
“You don’t have to be,” declared Ben. “It’s welcome home to you
whenever you strike Woodville. Father and I will be home some time
within an hour, I think.”
“All right, Ben.”
Bob proceeded towards the business portion of the town. Ben struck
off in the direction of the Saxton shops.
He whistled cheerily as he went along, for he felt pretty exuberant.
The stirring events of the day, winding up with the remarkable
arrival of his favorite chum, made him happy. The airship feature
kept him dreaming, and Ben was overexcited and buoyant.
As he turned a corner he came upon two boys near a street lamp.
One was sitting in the shadow of a tree on a fence post. The other
Ben recognized as the son of the engineer of the automobile works
discharged that day.
“Good evening,” hailed Ben pleasantly.
The lad addressed bestowed a fearful scowl on him.
“I didn’t speak to you,” he muttered.
Ben passed on. He knew the sullen, quarrelsome nature of Dave
Shallock quite well. The latter was a bully. Once he had gone too
far with his domineering tactics with Ben, and a necessary and
unavoidable mixup had resulted, which had taught Dave to keep his
place.
“I suppose he feels bad over his father losing his job,” reflected
Ben sympathizingly. “I know I should, if our positions were changed.”
Presently our hero turned quickly at the sound of footsteps behind
him. It was to come face to face with the subject of his thoughts.
Dave Shallock’s eyes had a wicked glare. His hands were clenched,
and Ben prepared for an onslaught, but he asked quietly:
“Want to see me, Dave?”
“Yes, I do,” retorted Dave, in a husky, rage-filled voice. “I said a
minute ago I didn’t speak to you. Well, I’m speaking to you now, you
hear me! and I’ve got something to say you won’t soon forget.”
“What is it about?” inquired Ben.
“It’s about your mean, miserable trick in getting my father
discharged from the Saxton Automobile Works!” shouted Dave Shallock
wrathfully.