TOM SCORES
“Oh, sugar! You’re dreaming. Pinch yourself,” cried Charlie Blake. “Tom
is miles from here; he’s away back in Kenosha, you silly goose.”
“He was, but he isn’t; he’s right there in front of us.”
The “grind” gazed first at the tall boy, whose back was partly turned,
then toward his friend with such an air of comical bewilderment that at
any other time Bob Somers would have burst out laughing.
“It--it--certainly does look like Tom, but--but--why, hang it all, how
can it be Tom?” he gasped.
Bob Somers smiled, and the next instant Blake heard him utter a lusty
call which strangely resembled the hoot of an owl.
It produced a most extraordinary effect on the tall lad. He swung
around as sharply as though struck by some flying object. Then Charlie
heard an answering hail of a similar character, and, at the same
moment, saw the lad start toward them on a loping trot.
“Great Scott! It is--it actually is Tom Clifton!” he cried. “Well,
well!”
On came the tall boy, while Bob Somers and his companion, perhaps more
astonished than they had ever been in all their lives, walked rapidly
to meet him.
Tom Clifton’s face, as he approached, presented a most curious study.
He made a desperate attempt to appear cool and dignified, but, in spite
of all his efforts, conflicting feelings of joy, triumph, and even
indignation persisted in finding reflection on his countenance.
“Well, Bob, I knew I’d see you!” was his exclamation, as he seized the
other’s hand. “That was a pretty slick scheme of Vic’s, but----”
“Slick scheme?” gasped Bob, while Charlie Blake’s mouth flew wide open.
“Sure thing! Oh, you needn’t try to put on any nice innocent looks.”
Tom assumed an air of pitying condescension. “I got wise to your
dodge, all right; yes siree, Bob Somers. Ha, ha! You chaps didn’t get
up quite early enough to fool little Tom.”
“Why--why--what do you mean?” cried Bob. “How in thunder did you get
here, and why?”
“Well, that’s a good one!” exclaimed Tom, indignation suddenly getting
the upper hand of his other emotions. “Say, do you chaps see anything
green in me--ah, do you now?” A scornful look flashed in his eyes.
“Little Vic’s keeping out of sight, I suppose, eh? Thinks I might hurt
him. But--but--honest, Bob, I didn’t think it of you!” he blurted out,
unable to control his feelings any longer. “Honest, I didn’t!”
“What does all this mean, Tom?” demanded Bob, sharply.
“Oh, now, cut it out, I tell you. I don’t mind a joke----”
“A joke?” broke in the highly mystified Blake.
“Yes; a joke! You understand English, I s’pose?”
“No; not this new brand of yours,” murmured Charlie.
“See here, Tom”--Bob Somers laid a hand on the other’s shoulder--“let’s
get at this thing. How did you come here?”
“In the motor car, of course.”
“And where are Dave and Victor?”
“Now look here, Bob,” cried Tom, hotly, “you and Charlie know--I don’t.
They helped you pull off this little trick and----”
“Great Cæsar! What kind of a mix-up is this?” cried Bob, a glimmer of
the true state of affairs entering his brain at last. “So you came here
alone?”
“A constable was in the car part way,” said Tom, loftily. “I let ’er
out a bit, Bob. And talk ’bout whizzing! Why, all the telegraph poles
seemed to be melted into one--honest fact, they did. Now tell me what
has become of Dave?”
“If Dave isn’t with you, he and Victor must be thirty-four miles from
here,” said Bob, calmly.
“What?” piped the tall lad, a sinking feeling suddenly gripping his
heart. Bob Somers’ expression was quite enough to convince him of his
sincerity. “Dave and Victor in Kenosha!” he added, faintly.
His thoughts ran riot for a moment. Then, after all, Victor Collins
wasn’t responsible. It really came as a stunning surprise to Tom.
“Well, Bob, the jinx has surely got us on this trip,” he exclaimed.
“Say, fellows, that was a foul tip of mine.”
Highly disgusted, Tom Clifton told the whole story, not forgetting,
even in his mental stress, to take credit for the fact that his
calculations regarding the destination of the motor yacht had proven
correct.
The “grind” was not demonstrative, as a rule, but on this occasion he
fairly roared with mirth, slapped his knees and grew so red in the face
that Tom became quite alarmed.
“Gee! Look out, Charlie,” he cautioned. “The system can stand only so
much.”
“I know; and this was just a trifle over the limit,” gurgled Blake.
“Ha, ha, Tom! You have Sherlock Holmes beaten a mile.”
Tom was highly aggrieved.
“I’ll leave it to Bob if anybody wouldn’t have been liable to think as
I did,” he declared, stoutly. “Now tell me how it happened that you’re
here.”
When Tom had been duly informed, Bob Somers remarked:
“Well, fellows, this certainly puts a new aspect on the case. What’s to
be done? Dave and Vic’ll think we’ve deserted ’em, sure. Another thing:
Dave didn’t have a cent.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Charlie. “Victor always carries nearly a
ton of the stuff in his pockets.”
“I’ll bet he wouldn’t lend Dave a nickel,” put in Tom, charitably.
“Looked to me as if he has it in for us.”
“Oh, get out,” scoffed Blake.
“Get off, you mean--eh, Bob?”
“We’ll most likely find a telegram waiting for us at the hotel,” said
Bob, shaking his head negatively at Tom’s suggestion.
“Let’s go and see.”
There was so much of interest in the streets that the boys didn’t
feel inclined to hurry themselves. So it was late in afternoon when
they finally set out in search of the hotel which Captain Bunderley
patronized.
By the time they reached it street lights and show windows were
gleaming brightly through the darkness of a very dark night.
The boys found Uncle Ralph in the reception room.
“Well, there’s no telegram from your friend yet,” was his greeting as
they stepped toward him. When his eyes lighted upon Tom Clifton’s tall
figure he half arose in his chair. “’Pon my word--what on earth does
this mean?” he exclaimed. “Where did you come from, boy?”
Tom was visibly embarrassed, as the eyes of every one in the room were
immediately leveled upon him.
“I blew in on the motor car,” he began, “and----”
“What--on the motor car--alone?”
“Yes, sir; and----”
“Let’s have this story right from the beginning,” thundered Uncle
Ralph, bringing his fist down on the table with a resounding bang, a
proceeding which added considerably to Tom’s confusion.
It wasn’t very easy for the tall boy to relate his story, especially
with a number of people sitting around, all apparently eager to hear
him speak. Uncle Ralph’s loud voice was the cause of this. He plunged
in bravely, however, being very careful indeed not to let out a hint
regarding Victor’s supposed trick.
Many and varied were Captain Bunderley’s observations as the tale was
told. The captain couldn’t help expressing his frank opinion at all
times, and in this case it wasn’t favorable to Tom.
“Why on earth did you do such a silly thing, boy?” he stormed.
“Silly?” cried Tom, aghast.
“Certainly; absolutely so.”
Tom, in helpless confusion, looked from Bob to Charlie.
“Silly?” he repeated, in fainter accents.
His face flushed a deep crimson. Then, suddenly, all the fire in his
nature flashed into a flame of burning indignation.
“It wasn’t a bit silly, sir,” he declared, fiercely.
“Now just see here, young chap”--the captain’s big finger waved
before Tom’s eyes; his voice boomed through the room with appalling
distinctness--“it was silly! What will Victor and Dave think when they
find you and the motor car missing?”
“I--I--don’t know, sir.”
“Of course you don’t. But just imagine how worried those two boys may
be.”
“Victor--perhaps; not Dave, sir. Besides, it isn’t my fault.”
“Not your fault?”
“No, sir. But for your running off with Bob and Charlie it never would
have happened.”
Tom came perilously near wilting under the captain’s stern gaze; only
by a desperate effort could he control his shaky nerves.
The lines on the skipper’s face softened; the harsh look faded from his
eyes.
“That’s true, my boy,” he said, reflectively; “quite true! Shake hands
and forget what I said. But the mischief must be undone at once. Bob,
I’m going to call up the hotel at Kenosha by long distance ’phone. My
sister, if she knew the situation, I am sure would be intensely worried
about the boy.”
The three followed the captain’s burly form into the office.
Tom’s expression had undergone a most remarkable change; his face now
wore a look of conscious triumph.
“I squelched him some--eh, Bob?” he whispered in scarcely audible
tones. “He couldn’t make me the goat, oh, no!”
“Be with you in a moment,” bawled out the captain, entering a telephone
booth.
Little things like a closed door and a pile of boards couldn’t keep
Uncle Ralph’s voice within bounds. Presently they heard him say: “What!
Couldn’t give ’em the telegram because they’ve gone? How’s that?--When?
’Pon my word! And left no message, either? Don’t expect ’em back? Why
not?”
The answer was evidently far from satisfactory, for, with a sharp “I’ll
call you up later,” Captain Bunderley flipped the receiver back into
place and stalked outside.
“Neither of ’em is at the hotel,” he exclaimed. “The clerk says they
went off at different times. Victor finally came back, but left again.
Says the stout boy asked for credit, but he was obliged to refuse.”
“Gee whiz!” cried Bob.
Then he promptly explained Dave’s situation, while Uncle Ralph’s brow
clouded over.
“A very annoying state of affairs, indeed,” he pronounced. “But let us
go in to supper, boys. Perhaps by the time we’re through some word may
have arrived.”
But it hadn’t. And when Uncle Ralph called up the Kenosha hotel a
second and third time the same laconic answer was always received--“No,
sir; they have not yet returned.”
“Well, that settles it,” cried Bob Somers, at length. “We’ll motor
right back to Kenosha and find ’em.”
“What!--On a night so black that a black cat would make a light spot in
the landscape?” exclaimed Captain Bunderley, protestingly.
“Oh, that kind of thing doesn’t worry us,” broke in Tom, eagerly. “Why,
when we were in Wyoming----”
“Oh, my!” groaned Charlie.
“Besides, it’s going to storm,” went on the captain, seeing a look in
Bob Somers’ eyes which indicated a settled determination.
“We have everything to protect us from the weather, sir. It’ll be a
regular lark. Coming, fellows?”
“Bet your life!” cried Tom, enthusiastically.
Charlie Blake, however, held back.
“Oh, look here, Bob, what’s the use?” he demurred. “We might miss
’em, and have all our trouble for nothing. It isn’t safe, either,
traveling----”
“Well, if you’re afraid, that ends it,” put in Tom, loftily.
“Who said I was afraid?” snapped the “grind.”
“Oh, nobody, of course,” said Tom, looking very wise.
“Then don’t chatter like a goose.”
“Did I ever hear of such nerve! If----”
“Cut it out, fellows,” laughed Bob. “Captain, we’ll send you a telegram
just as soon as those chaps are rounded up.”
The former seaman smiled quizzically. To his mind, talking about the
trip in a brightly-lighted room and actually undertaking it were two
such widely different propositions that he had little confidence in the
boys sticking to their determination. “They may possibly go as far as
the city limits,” he thought, “but that long stretch of lonely road and
the blackness will send ’em back.”
“Sure you want to try it?” he said, aloud.
“Yes, sir, the very worst way,” laughed Bob. “Now, Charlie----”
[Illustration: “LOOK OUT FOR YOURSELVES, BOYS”]
Blake, anticipating what he was about to say, and noticing a peculiar
grin on Tom’s face, held up his hand.
“I’m going,” he said, in remarkably sour tones.
“That’s fine.”
Captain Bunderley gave each a hearty grasp of the hand.
“Look out for yourselves, boys,” he cautioned. “Remember: if I had any
authority over you I might not consent to your going.”
“Oh, don’t worry about us, sir,” said Bob. “We’ll be all right.”
“Down some embankment, I s’pose,” muttered Charlie.
Outside, Bob took a good look at the sky.
“I guess the skipper is right about the weather,” he remarked, as they
started off in the direction of the garage.
Half an hour afterward the three arrived at the building. It was a very
large garage containing many machines. The glare of electric lights
revealed none more imposing than the Rambler Club’s motor car.
“Not a speck o’ mud left on her,” said the man in charge. “Going out
to-night, sir?”
“Right away,” answered Tom, with an air of importance. “Pile in,
fellows.”
The fellows “piled” in.
“We may be back to-night, and we may not,” said the tall boy, handing
over the amount of the bill and a generous tip. “Let ’er go, Bob.
So-long!”
A deafening roar abruptly filled the whole room with thunderous echoes.
Quick gasps and throbs followed, while the exhausts flung to the air
whirling clouds of spent gases. The two head and two side lamps threw a
brilliant glare over the floor and walls and cut a pathway through the
open door to the street beyond.
The trembling machine, responding to its master’s touch, glided forward.
“This sure ain’t no kind o’ a night for joy ridin’,” remarked the man
in charge, as he watched the big car swinging into the highway.