ARRESTED
"Well, I declare--where did you fellows drop from? Where's old
sleepy-head?"
"Street-cars and trucks, so we meet again, eh?"
Nat Wingate and Kirk Talbot uttered these exclamations, as the two
encountered Bob Somers, accompanied by Sam Randall, on the following
morning.
"Having any further trouble with your old tub?" asked Nat.
"Not much," answered Bob, dryly; "don't expect to, either. It's at the
bottom of Wolf River."
"What?--Say, where does the joke come in, Somers? I don't catch on."
"The 'Rambler' was set on fire and blown into bits yesterday by some
mean scoundrel."
"Come now, what are you trying to give us?" protested Nat,
incredulously, while Kirk Talbot fairly gasped with astonishment.
"You don't expect me to believe a fishy yarn like that, do you?"
For an answer, Bob told the two Nimrods all about the destruction of
the "Rambler," and their long tramp to the railroad station.
"Little and big fishes, if that isn't the worst I ever heard!" cried
Kirk, with wide-open eyes. "Haven't you any idea who could have worked
such a game on you?"
"Not the slightest."
"Christopher! Mighty tough luck, I must say," admitted Nat. "I can
hardly believe it yet. Save anything, Somers?"
"Not enough to notice."
"Wow, won't your father be mad, though? Didn't you know any better than
to leave the tub? Thought after we got out there was no danger, eh?"
Nat exhibited a trace of the sneering, unpleasant manner which had
largely served to keep him out of the Rambler Club.
"Never was more surprised in my life," declared Kirk Talbot; "can't
imagine why any one should have done it. Didn't you have a scrap with
anybody, or raise a shindy in that town back there?"
"No!"
"Maybe 'pa' touched off the fuse," began Nat, laughing uproariously.
"Say, Somers, didn't that yellow head take a dandy slide in the water?
Oh, my, I guess he was wild, eh? My stars, the funniest sight I ever
saw. Ha, ha!" Then suddenly becoming serious, he added: "Suppose you'll
go back home now?"
"No, we are going to keep right on."
"What for?"
"You know my father has some land--"
"Come in with our crowd, Somers. Can't you see enough mud and rocks
without going off to the edge of the earth?"
"We can have a dandy time, hunting and fishing. Have the use of our
boat, too. She'll hold ten, easily. What do you say?"
"That your offer is very kind, but--"
"Oh, say," interrupted Kirk, "what's the matter with you fellows,
anyway? Thought you were going to have some fun. More sport when
there's a big crowd. I'm awfully sorry your boat is gone, but that's
only a good reason why you should join us."
"Which way are you going?"
"To where John 'Hatchet' clubbed that tame old wildcat," laughed Nat.
"My eye, Hacky's a wonder when there's no one looking on."
"All had your backs turned, and running like mad?" inquired Sam,
innocently.
"You guessed it, my little salt," returned Nat, with a grin. "Are you
going with us, or not?"
"If you keep on Clair Bay, we will."
"And if we don't, you won't, that's it, hey? You've given us an
ul-ti-ma-tum, as they say, when big words are sprung on us. All right,
Somers, we'll think it over, and let you know. Come on, Kirky; Ted may
need these pills."
"What's the matter with Pollock?"
"Oh, he got sick yesterday. Ate some of Hackett's cooking. Must say it
was a narrow escape. We'll see you later." And with a wave of his hand,
Nat and his companion moved off.
"Wingate's a queer fellow," declared Bob; "we wouldn't have him in our
club, yet he turns around and wants us to come in with his. It's funny;
I never thought Nat was that kind of a fellow."
"Oh, I'll bet Wingate is up to something," said Sam; "thinks, maybe,
that he is smart enough to play some trick on us. Nat will bear
watching. Smooth, just like his uncle."
Clair Bay, while not a large town, possessed several handsome
buildings, but the boys found that the police station was not among the
number. It stood just off a main thoroughfare. A flight of steps led up
to a rather wide, but dingy-looking entrance.
"Glad we don't have to stay here long," observed Sam, with a grimace.
They pushed open the door and entered. Before them was a square room,
lighted by two large windows. Three benches occupied as many sides,
while in one corner stood a railing and desk.
Within the enclosure sat an elderly, gray-haired official. He looked up
as the boys entered.
"What can I do for you, young men?" he asked.
Bob Somers related his story.
"Humph!" muttered the official. He glanced over the rim of his
eye-glasses at the boys, then began to question them.
The Ramblers had no intention of mentioning Nat Wingate and his crowd,
but, under the fire of persistent queries, even the fact that the
Nimrods' leader had threatened them came out. Bob, however, assured the
official that no suspicion could be attached to their rivals.
"I don't know that we can give you much hope," said the official, at
the conclusion of their interview; "but we will do the best we can."
"Now for the post-office!" exclaimed Bob. "I'll break the news to my
dad as gently as I can. I wouldn't like to see his face when he gets
the letter."
"There's the post-office across the street," said Sam.
In the meantime, the two Trailers had rejoined their companions. The
"Nimrod," decked with several flags, the largest of which bore the
club's name in gilt letters, was tied up at a wharf near the far end of
the town.
"Hi, there!" cried Nat, as they approached, and unmindful of the fact
that several spectators were engaged in talking to his friends. "Great
news--bing, bang, bust, air full of little pieces--old canal-boat of
Somers under fifty feet of the worst drinking water in Wisconsin."
"What's that?" asked Hackett.
"Bing, bang, bust! I told you; the 'Rambler' blew up. Couldn't stand
the crowd that was on it any longer."
"What are you talking about?" demanded Hackett, impatiently.
"For goodness' sake, Kirk, explain. I thought I was speaking English."
"Their old tub was blown into the middle of next week," said Talbot,
bluntly. "Some fellow who had a grudge against 'em--"
"Say, is that true--blown up--sunk?" burst forth Hackett, exhibiting
the greatest astonishment.
"Sunk?" echoed Ted Pollock, aghast.
"That's just what happened," said Nat; "I feel sorry for the poor
duffers.--What say, Bill?"
This remark was addressed to a respectable-looking gentleman of about
forty, who, standing close by, had heard the various remarks, and
ventured to make an inquiry.
"I asked," said the gentleman, "about the explosion on a boat, but, if
you will permit me, I would like to say that your manner of addressing
people might be considerably improved."
"That isn't my fault," returned Nat, who was not in the least abashed;
"somebody stole the club's book on manners."
A howl of merriment sent the dignified gentleman away in disgust.
"That was a piece of nerve, wasn't it?" said John Hackett.
"Frightful!" returned Nat. "Let me see, what was I saying? Oh, yes, ha,
ha! I feel sorry for those chaps, but I can't help laughing. This is
the way it happened."
Nat then related the particulars, frequently interrupted by
exclamations and questions. Several loungers who crowded up also seemed
to be interested in the story.
For some time, the Nimrods discussed the extraordinary event.
Suddenly Nat Wingate remarked: "Feeling any better, Ted? I got some
stuff for you."
Young Pollock's pale face and listless manner showed that he felt far
from his usual self.
The day before, while rambling through the woods, the lad had come
across a plant that he supposed to be an artichoke. Only Nat's
fortunate arrival at that moment prevented him from eating more of the
poisonous wild parsnip. As it was, Ted had been sick all day, and he
vowed never to touch any of the wild plants growing in the woods.
"What have you got, Nat--pills with an awful taste?" questioned Ted.
"There's a policeman making a bee-line this way," broke in Hackett.
"Say, do you suppose that fellow who fell out of his tub back there
made any kick?"
"Guess 'Brass buttons' is just coming to take a look at the 'Nimrod.'
Don't let a blue uniform get you scared."
But the policeman only glanced at the trim little motor boat.
"What's your name?" he demanded, addressing the leader of the Nimrods.
"Nat Wingate--why?"
"Is that your boat?"
"Sure, it is."
"Then you fellows will have to come with me," said the officer.
"What for?" protested Nat.
"Never mind, Johnny. The captain will tell you all about it. Step
lively now."
"This is an outrage!" cried Hackett, loudly.
"There's some mistake," faltered Nat.
"Well, I can't chin here all day," said the officer, gruffly; "I was
given orders to take you in hand, and in you go."
"Somebody is going to pay for this," blustered Hackett, angrily. "My
stars, what can you want with us? We only got here this morning."
The officer reached forward, and grasped the slim youth's arm. "Come
right along, Johnny," he commanded; "march."
He pushed him forward, while Hackett fairly boiled with anger. To add
to the Nimrods' discomfiture, a large crowd had gathered.
"Just wait until my uncle hears about this," fumed Nat; "somebody is
going to catch it, I can tell you."
"The whole bunch pulled in," said Kirk, disconsolately. "This will be
pleasant news to the folks at home."
The walk to the police station was decidedly unpleasant, and the
Nimrods were glad when the station-house door shut them from the view
of the curious crowd.
They soon found themselves facing the man who had received Bob Somers'
complaint.
Names were placed on the police blotter. Then the official, resting his
elbows on the desk, leaned forward, gazing sternly into Nat Wingate's
face.
"Tell me what you know about the destruction of the 'Rambler,'" he
said, sharply.