CRUISING ABOUT
“What is it? What have you found?” asked the woman, whose name, Larry
learned, was Mrs. Christensen. “Is it something to tell about the poor
little feller?”
“I hope so,” replied Larry. “It’s signed with his name, anyhow. But I
can’t understand what ‘You Ron’ means.”
“‘You Ron,’” repeated Mrs. Christensen. “Why it’s a reg’lar Chinese
laundry name.”
“It does look like that,” admitted Larry.
“Maybe the villyans have him hid away in one of them Chinese places,”
she suggested. “There’s lots of ’em hereabouts.”
“Perhaps,” said Larry. He was looking at the scrap of paper as though
it might speak and tell him what he wanted to know.
“‘You Ron,’” he murmured over and over again. “‘You Ron.’ I wonder what
in the world that means? The boy wouldn’t have taken the trouble to
write it, and put his name to it unless it meant something. He had to
do it in a hurry, too, for it’s rather scrawled. And then he dropped
it here, in all the litter, thinking and hoping that some one would
find it, and guess what it meant. I only wish I could know what it
means, for I’m sure it stands for something.”
Larry gazed at the scrap of paper. He turned it over and over. He
looked at it upside down. He even held it up in front of a cracked
looking-glass on the wall, for sometimes written characters, made by a
reversed process, or backwards, can be read by holding them in front of
a mirror. Not so with this one, however. It was as much of a puzzle one
way as the other.
“Don’t you want to go see some of the Chinay-men?” asked Mrs.
Christensen. “They’re bad, some of ’em, and they may have the poor boy
hid away in some of their opyum pipes that I’ve read about.”
“Hardly that, I think,” said Larry, “and yet----”
Once more he looked at the paper.
“‘You Ron,’ he repeated over again, sometimes rapidly, and again
slowly. Suddenly a changed expression came over his face.
“I think I have it!” he cried.
“Do you mean that piece of paper tells you where the stolen boy is?”
asked Mrs. Christensen. “You detective fellers is wonderful wise.”
“I don’t know about that,” spoke Larry. “And I’m not sure that this
tells where the stolen boy is. But I’ve just seen something that I
ought to have known as soon as I picked up this bit of paper. ‘You
Ron’!” he cried. “Don’t you see what it means?”
“I can’t say that I does,” replied Mrs. Christensen. “It sounds like
Chinese to me.”
“It’s the name of the lake!” went on the young reporter, “Lake Huron.
That’s what Lorenzo meant to write. He must have heard the men speaking
of it, and he wrote it down just as it sounded to his Italian ears.
‘You Ron,’ means Huron sure. I see it now. The kidnappers have taken
him on Lake Huron.”
“Lake Huron!” gasped the woman. “And do you think they’ll drown him
there?”
“Not a bit of it!” cried Larry stoutly. “I don’t believe they’re as
desperate as that. They want to escape with him, that’s all. And
they’ve gone to Lake Huron. Why didn’t I see that at first. ‘You Ron’
was as near as Lorenzo could come to spelling it, and he left this
scrap of paper here for a clew. He’s a smart and plucky lad, all right.”
“And are you going to Lake Huron after him?” demanded Mrs. Christensen.
“I surely am. But it’s a big contract. I guess I’ll need a boat, all
right. A motorboat for a cruise about the lake, and yet they may have
only crossed the lake, to the Canadian side. Oh, why couldn’t Lorenzo
give me a little more information? But perhaps that was all he had time
to write. I’ve got to make a search on the lakes for him now. But still
this shows that he’s alive, and fairly well. It will be some hope for
his mother.”
“His poor mother! Oh, how sorry I am for her!” exclaimed the woman. “I
do hope you can find her boy for her.”
“I’m going to make a big try!” exclaimed the young reporter, as he put
the scrap of paper away in his pocket-book.
There was nothing more that Larry could learn at the place where the
stolen boy had been held captive. With one last glance about the rooms
he came away, and, after thanking Mrs. Christensen for the aid she had
given, he hastened to tell the news to the waiting mother.
Mrs. Androletti was at once comforted and alarmed. It was joy to her to
know that her son was alive. But she was alarmed when Larry spoke of
Lake Huron.
“Oh, the terrible water!” she exclaimed. “I know when we came over from
Italy, though we were on a great ship, Lorenzo was frightened. He does
not like the water, and he never did. I am not afraid of it, but, oh,
for him! What shall we do? Where shall we look for him now?”
“Well,” remarked Larry, “I suppose one thing is as good as another. I’m
all at sea, except for the fact that it is somewhere on Lake Huron that
those men have taken your son. They may have only crossed the lake,
but, in that case, I think they would have mentioned some city on the
other side, or some destination, and Lorenzo would have written that
instead of the name of the lake itself, as nearly as he could catch
it. So what I have to propose is this:
“I will engage a small boat, and cruise about looking for him. I can
easily hire a motor launch here, and though it may take some time to
get on the trail, it is the only thing I see that can be done.”
“And I agree with you,” spoke Mrs. Androletti. “But suppose they have
taken Lorenzo on a long trip, on some big steamer, that goes over all
the lakes?”
“I don’t believe they would do that,” said Larry. “They would be afraid
of being discovered. This case has attracted so much attention, there
has been so much published about it, and your boy’s picture has been in
so many papers, that those who have stolen him have to keep under cover
with him.
“This is very evident from the fact that they picked out such a poor
tenement place to stay with him. No, they won’t try to take him on
board any of the big steamers. They’ll hire a small boat, I think, and
keep out on the lake until such time as they can come ashore, and go to
some place where they can hide.”
“Oh, do you think so?” cried the singer. “But what is their object? Why
do they torture me so? Why are they holding my boy from me? Why do they
not demand half my fortune? and I would gladly give it to them--yes,
all of it. For life is nothing to me without him!”
“I don’t know,” answered Larry slowly. “I can’t imagine what their game
is. It’s a deep one, I’m sure. All I know is that they have your boy,
and that, in all probability, they are out on Lake Huron with him. And
I’m going after him.”
“And I’m going with you!” cried the singer.
“You?”
“Yes; I can’t stand this suspense any longer. I must do something. I
will hire the best motorboat that can be had, and together we will
cruise about, looking for my boy. Will you take me with you?”
“I will!” cried Larry, holding out his hands, and Mrs. Androletti
clasped them as his own mother might have done.
Larry spent many busy hours. It was not so easy as he had imagined
hiring a gasolene launch for an indefinite cruise. He telegraphed to
Mr. Emberg, at the _Leader_ office, and word came back that he could do
whatever he thought best. There was no limit to expense bills, he was
told.
Larry was careful about what kind of a boat he selected. And, truth to
tell, there was not much choice in craft that were on the market for
charter.
“It might be better to buy one,” thought the young reporter. “We could
use it as long as we wanted, and then sell it again. I’ll go look for
one for sale.”
He went down to the river front, and, as he came near a public dock he
saw a boat tied fast there, which at once took his fancy. She was a
“beauty,” as he at once characterized her. Of large size, with slanting
masts, a raking funnel and her lines were perfect. Between the masts
were the wires which indicated that wireless communication could be
maintained for some distance, at any rate.
“Oh, if I could only get a boat like that one!” exclaimed Larry, half
aloud. “We could go all over Lake Huron in her. But I guess it’s out of
the question. She certainly is a ‘beaut,’ though.”
He stood on the string-piece of the pier admiring the motor craft.
As he took in the various details, and glimpsed into the motor-room
through the opened transoms of the trunk cabin, he heard a voice
speaking.
“Well, daddy, how long are we going to stay here?” was asked in girlish
tones.
Larry started at the sound. Where had he heard that voice before?
“By Jove!” he exclaimed to himself.
A moment later there was a movement in a companionway, and a girlish
figure came on deck. For an instant the young lady gazed at Larry
Dexter. Then she exclaimed:
“Oh, daddy, you’ll never guess who’s here!”
“Who?” came a voice from below.
“Our reporter! Larry Dexter. Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” she cried,
holding out her hands. “Wherever did you come from, and how did you
know that we were going to put in here? You newspaper men know
everything, I believe, and what you don’t you always guess at!”
“Grace!” cried Larry. “Grace Potter! Well, I never knew your father had
a motor yacht.”
“Come on board!” she cried. “We have only had it a little while. We’ve
been cruising about, daddy and I, and now we don’t know what to do
next. Maybe you can suggest something.”
“I can,” said Larry quietly, a daring plan coming into his mind.
“Good! Come aboard. Father will be up in a minute. Oh, it seems like
hearing from home to see you again, Larry.”
The young reporter walked up the gangplank to the deck of the trim
motor yacht. Every glimpse he had of her revealed new beauties.
“Glad to see you,” murmured Mr. Potter. “You seem to find me, Larry, no
matter where I go,” and the millionaire, whom Larry had once located,
when it seemed that he had disappeared forever, shook hands with our
hero.
“And, what do you think, daddy?” exclaimed Grace; “he has a new plan
for a cruise for us.”
“You have?” exclaimed Mr. Potter. “Let’s hear it, Larry; I’d like to
run up against something new.”
“Then lend me your yacht to trace the stolen boy!” cried Larry
suddenly. “That will be something new, and it may furnish plenty of
excitement.”
“The stolen boy!” murmured Mr. Potter.
“Yes, father, don’t you remember? Madame Androletti’s son,” explained
Grace, who was a great reader of the newspapers. “Larry is working on
that case.”
“I thought you had retired after you solved the bank mystery,” spoke
the millionaire, with a smile.
“Not quite,” answered the young reporter; and then he told of his plans.
“Use my yacht? Of course you can!” cried Mr. Potter, when Larry
proffered his request. “I’ll run it for you, with my crew. Grace and I
will come along, and Madame Androletti can be our guest. We know her
slightly. It’s great. This is just what I needed.
“I’ve been taking a vacation, but, so far, it hasn’t amounted to much.
Now I’ve got some object. We’ll cruise about looking for the scoundrels
who have that poor boy. How soon can you come aboard, Larry?”
“As soon as I can get Madame Androletti.”
“Then the sooner the better. Wait, I’ll go with you, and formally
invite her.”
“And I’m coming, too,” said Grace.
A little later they were with tearful Madame Androletti, who gladly
accepted the offer of the millionaire’s vessel. She was ready to start
at once.
“And now to find the stolen boy!” cried Grace Potter, as she stood on
deck with Larry, some time later, as the _Elizabeth_, which was the
name of Mr. Potter’s yacht, was churning her way from the dock.
“It may be a longer cruise than you think for,” spoke Larry, as he
thought of the expanse of Lake Huron.
“I don’t care how long it is!” she said, as she smiled at the young
reporter. “It will be worth while.”
And so the cruise began. How would it end?