A BUSINESS BOY
"We've landed!" shouted Hiram in a jolty tone, plunging forward in
his seat in the biplane.
"Yes, but where?" Dave asked quickly.
"That's so. Whew! What have we drifted into?"
The Baby Racer had struck a mass soft and yielding. It drove
through some substance rather than ran on its wheels. There was a
dive and a joggle. Then the machine came to a halt--submerged.
Whatever had received it now came up about the puzzled young
aviators as might a snowdrift or it heap of hay. Dave dashed a
filmy, flake-like substance resembling sawdust from eyes, ears and
mouth. Hiram tried to disentangle himself from strips and curls of
some light, fluffy substance. Then he cried out:
"Dave, it's shavings!"
"You don't say so."
"Yes, it is--a great heap of shavings, a big mountain of them."
"Lucky for us. If we had hit the bare ground I fear we would have
had a smash up."
Gradually and cautiously the two young aviators made their way out
of the seats of the machine. They got past the wings. A circle of
electric street lamps surrounded them on four sides. Their
radiance, dim and distant, seemed to indicate that they were in the
center of a factory yard covering several acres.
A little way off they could discern the outlines of high piles of
lumber and beyond these several buildings. The biplane lay partly
on its side, sunk deep in a heap of long, broad shavings. The mass
must have been fully a hundred feet in extent and fifteen to twenty
feet high. They reached its side and slid down the slant to the
ground.
"Well!" ejaculated Dave.
"Yes, and what?" inquired Hiram, brushing the loose bits of shavings
from his soaked tarpaulin coat.
"Business--strictly and quick," replied Dave promptly.
"And leave the Racer where she is?"
"Can you find a better place, Hiram?"
"Well, no, but--"
A man flashing a dark lantern and armed with a heavy cane came upon
them around the corner of the buildings. The boys paused. The man,
evidently the watchman of the place, challenged them, moving his
lantern from face to face.
"Who are you?" he demanded sternly.
"Aviators," replied Dave.
"What's that?"
"We just arrived in an airship."
"No nonsense. How did you get in here?"
"Mister," spoke out Hiram, "we just landed in the biplane, the Baby
Racer. If you don't believe me, come to the shavings pile yonder
and we'll show you the machine, and thank you for having it there,
for if you hadn't I guess we'd have needed an ambulance."
The watchman looked incredulous. He followed Dave and Hiram,
however, as they led the way back to the heap of shavings. One wing
of the biplane stuck up in the air and he made it out.
"This is queer," he observed. "You say it's an airship?"
"Yes, sir," nodded Hiram.
"We had to make a hurried night journey from Columbus," explained
Dave. "There were no trains, and we came with the biplane."
"Well, well, well," commented the watchman. He had heard of
Columbus and the aero meet there, and began to understand matters.
"You see," spoke Hiram, "we can't land everywhere, or we'd have to
settle some damage suits."
"I will be glad to pay you for letting us leave the machine here
till after daylight, and watch it to see no harm comes to it,"
proposed Dave.
"Why, we'll do that," assented the watchman. "You look like two
decent young fellows, and I'm sure the company won't object to
letting your airship stay up there for a few hours."
"We will be back to see about it in a few hours," promised Dave.
The watchman led the boys to the big gate of' the factory yard and
let them out. The rain had ceased and the wind was not blowing so
hard as before.
"What now, Dave?" inquired Hiram, as they found themselves in the
deserted street.
"The Northern Hotel."
"Oh, going to try and fix things before daylight?"
"We can't afford to lose a minute," declared Dave. "There's a
policeman. I want to ask him a question."
They hurried to a corner where a policeman had halted under the
street lamp. Dave inquired the location of the Northern Hotel.
Then the boys proceeded again on their way, and reached the place in
about half an hour.
The night clerk and others were on duty. Dave approached the desk
and addressed the clerk.
"Is a Mr. Timmins stopping here?" he asked.
"Why, no," replied the clerk, looking Dave and Hiram over curiously,
their somewhat queer garb attracting his attention.
"Do you know him, may I inquire?"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Timmins has been here several times. We are holding
some mail for him, and expected him several days ago."
"Do you know the company he represents?"
"Airships, isn't it?" propounded the clerk.
"That's right. The Interstate Aeroplane Company."
"Yes, I remember now," added the clerk.
"I am also connected with that company," explained Dave.
The clerk stared vaguely, as if he did not quite understand the
situation.
"Yes," eagerly broke in the irrepressible Hiram, as if he was
introducing some big magnate, "he's Dave Dashaway, and he's beat the
field with the Interstate Baby Racer."
"Oh, Dashaway, eh?" said the clerk, with a pleasant smile. "I've
heard of you and read about you."
"I am glad of that," responded Dave, "because it may help you
identify me with the Inter-state people. As an employee of theirs
and a friend of Mr. Timmins, I will have to be confidential with
you."
"That's all right--we are used to confidences in this business,"
said the hotel clerk.
Dave reflected deeply for a moment. He had a definite plan in view.
He realized that he must confide to a degree in the hotel clerk.
"The gist of the matter," said Dave, "is that Mr. Timmins has missed
connections. He should have been here two days ago. Here is a
telegram I received from the Interstate people."
The clerk read the telegram. He nodded his head and smiled, which
the observant Dave took to mean that he was friendly towards Mr.
Timmins, but knew of some of his business-lapses in the past.
"What do you want me to do?" asked the clerk.
"You notice that the Interstate people refer in that telegram to
some papers sent to the hotel here for Mr. Timmins."
"I noticed that," assented the clerk. "I shouldn't wonder if this
is the package."
As he spoke the clerk reached over to the letter case near his desk
and took up a large manila envelope. It was addressed to Mr.
Timmins, and bore in one corner the printed name and address of the
Interstate Aeroplane Co.
"That is the letter, I feel sure," said Dave.
"I have no doubt of it," agreed the clerk.
"Do you suppose it would help you out any to have me give it to
you?"
"Why, will you?" questioned Dave eagerly. "I was going to ask you
to do so."
"I think I understand the situation now," said the clerk, "and I can
see how your getting the letter may help your people out of a
tangle. It's taking some responsibility on my part, for the letter
is of course the property of Mr. Timmins. I'm going to take the
risk, though, and I think Mr. Timmins will say it's all right when
he comes along."
"I know he will," declared Dave. "You see, I hope to carry through
a contract he has neglected."
Dave took the bulky letter and opened its envelope. He glanced
hastily but intelligently over its contents. They were just what he
imagined they would be, contracts for eight biplanes ready to sign,
and details and plans as to the machines.
"Have you a Kewaukee directory here?" he asked.
The clerk pushed a bulky volume across the marble slab of the
counter, with the words:
"Anybody special you are looking up?"
"Why, yes," replied Dave, "the County Fair Amusement Co."
"Oh, you mean Col. Lyon's proposition," observed the clerk at once.
"He runs county fair attractions all over the country."
"It must be the same," said Dave.
"I know Col. Lyon very well," proceeded the clerk. "He comes in
here very often."
"Where is his office?" inquired Dave.
"I don't think he has any regular office," responded the clerk.
"Two or three times a week he calls for mail at the Central
Amusement Exchange. He travels a good deal--has side attractions
with most of the big shows."
"But he lives in Kewaukee?"
"Not exactly. He has a very fine place called Fernwood, out on the
North Boulevard."
Dave thought things over for a minute or two. Then he asked:
"How can I reach Fernwood?"
"You don't mean before daylight?"
"Why, yes," responded Dave, "the sooner the better."
"I think any of the taxi men out at the curb know the location,"
said the clerk.
"Thank you," replied Dave, "and for all your great kindness about
that letter."
He and Hiram went out to the street. There were three or four
taxicabs lined up at the curb, their drivers napping in the seats.
Dave approached one of them.
"Do you know where Fernwood is?" he inquired of the chauffeur.
"You mean Col. Lyon's place?"
"Yes."
"Was there only last night. I took the Colonel home."
"Then he's there," spoke Dave to Hiram. "All right, take us to
Fernwood."
"You won't find anybody stirring at this hour of the morning,"
suggested the chauffeur.
"Then we'll Wait till the Colonel gets up," said Dave.
In less than half an hour the auto came to a halt before one of a
score or more of fine houses lining the most exclusive section of
the country boulevard.
Dave got out of the machine and Hiram followed him. They passed
through the gates of a large garden. In its center was a mansion
with wide porches. No light showed anywhere about the place.
"You're not going to wake anybody up at this outlandish hour?"
asked Hiram.
"Well, perhaps not," answered Dave.
"Why didn't you wait and see this Col. Lyon in the city at his
office?"
"Because there is no certainty that he will be at his office today.
Then, too, that Star fellow may be on hand there to grab the
contract. I want to head him off."
By this time they had reached the steps of the front porch.
"See here, Hiram," observed Dave, lowering his voice, "we'll sit
down here for a spell. It's about five o'clock, and by six someone
will be stirring about."
"Say," said Hiram, staring across the shadowed porch, "the front
door there is open."
"Why, so it is," replied Dave, peering towards it.
"That's strange, isn't it?"
"Oh, no--neglected, or left open for ventilation."
Both boys relapsed into silence. Hiram rested his face on his hands
and his knees, inclined to doze.
Dave was framing up in his mind how he would approach Col. Lyon. He
was deeply immersed in thought, when a sound behind him caused him
to start and look behind him.
Somebody with a great bundle done up in a sheet had just passed
through the open doorway out upon the porch.
The bundle was so big that its bearer had both hands clasped about
it, and its top came above his eyes.
Before Dave could speak a warning, the man carrying the package
crossed the porch and stumbled against Hiram, whom he did not see.
"Thunder! what's this?" shouted Hiram, knocked from his position and
rolling down the steps.
The man with the bundle echoed the try with one of alarm, as he
missed his footing and plunged forward.
"The mischief!" exclaimed Dave, starting at the bundle over which
the man tumbled, bursting it open.
There was an immense clatter. Even in the imperfect light of the
early morning, the young aviator made out a great heap of clothing,
silverware and jewelry, rattling down the steps of the porch.