THE START OF THE DODGE MYSTERY
"This is the way it always goes," jerked out Bradley, as the two
High School boys hurried into the office after him.
"One of my men is sick, and the other two are somewhere---where,
I can't find out."
"All" his men sounded large enough; as a matter of fact, the only
reporters "The Blade" employed were three young men on salary,
and Dick Prescott, mainly as gleaner of school news. Dick didn't
receive any salary, but was paid a dollar a column.
"What's happening, anyway?" Dick asked coolly.
"You know Theodore Dodge?" demanded Mr. Bradley.
"I know him when I see him; he never talks with me," Prescott
replied.
"Theodore Dodge is the father of a fellow in our senior class
at High School," Dave put in, adding under his breath, "and the
son is one of our football 'soreheads.'"
"Dodge has vanished," continued Bradley. "He went out early this
morning, and hasn't been seen since. Tonight, just after dark,
a man walking by the river, up above the bend, picked up a coat
and hat on the bank. Letters in the pocket showed the coat to
be Mr. Dodge's. The finder of the coat hurried to the Dodge house,
and Mrs. Dodge hurriedly notified the police, asking Chief Coy
to keep the whole matter quiet. Jerry (Chief Coy) doesn't know
that we have a blessed word about this. But Jerry, his plain
clothes man, Hemingway, and two other officers are out on the
case. They have been on the job for nearly three hours. So far
they haven't learned a word. They can't drag the river until
daylight comes. Now, Prescott, what occurs to you as the thing
to do?"
"I guess the only thing," replied Dick quietly, "is to find
Theodore Dodge."
Mr. Bradley gasped.
"Well, yes; you have the right idea, young man. But can you find
Dodge, Dick?"
"When do you go to press?"
"Latest at four o'clock in the morning."
"I think I can either find Theodore Dodge, or else find where
he went to," Prescott replied, slowly. "Of course, that's brag---not
promise."
"You get us the story---straight and in detail," cried Bradley,
eagerly, "and there'll probably be a bit extra in it for you---a
good bit, perhaps. If Dodge doesn't turn up without sensation
this is going to be our big story for a week. Dodge, you know,
is vice-president and actual head of the Second National Bank."
"Whew!" thought Dave Darrin, to himself. "It's easy enough for
any suspicious person to imagine a story! But it might not be
the right one."
"Some time ago," asked Dick thoughtfully, "didn't you publish
a story about some of the big amounts of insurance carried by
local rich men?"
"Yes," nodded Bradley.
"I think you stated that Theodore Dodge carried more than any
other citizen of Gridley."
"Yes; he carries a quarter of a million dollars of insurance."
"Is the insurance payable to his widow, or others---or to his
estate?"
"I don't know," mused News Editor Bradley, a very thoughtful look
coming into his face.
"Well, it's worth while finding out," pursued Dick. "See here,
suppose Dodge has been using the bank's funds, and found himself
in a corner that he couldn't get out of? Then, if the insurance
money goes to his widow, it would be hers, and no court could
take it from her for the benefit of his creditors. If it goes
to the estate, instead, then the insurance money, when paid over,
could be seized and applied to cover any shortage of the missing
man at the bank."
"So that-----?" interrogated the news editor, his own eyes twinkling
shrewdly.
"Why, in case---just in case, you understand---that Mr. Dodge
has gone and gotten himself into trouble over the bank's funds,
then it's probable that he has done one of two things. Either,
in despair he has killed himself, so that either his widow or
the bank will be protected. If the missing man didn't do away
with himself, then probably he has put up the appearance of suicide
in the hope that the officers of the law will be fooled of his
trail, and that either a wronged bank or a deserted wife might
get the insurance money. Of course, Mrs. Dodge might even be
a party to a contemplated fraud, though that's not a fair inference
against her unless something turns up to make it seem highly probable."
"My boy," cried Mr. Bradley admiringly, "you've all the instincts
and qualities of the good newspaper man. I hope you'll take up
the work when you get through the High School. But now to business!"
"Where do you want me to go? Where do you want me to take up
the trail? Where it started, just above the river bend? That's
out in the country, a mile and a half from here."
"Darrin," begged the news editor, "won't you step to the 'phone
and ring up Getchel's livery stable? Ask the man in charge to
we want a horse with a little speed and a good deal of endurance."
While Dave was busy at the wire Dick and the news editor talked
over the affair in low tones.
"With the horse you can cover a lot of ground," suggested Bradley.
"And you're right about taking up the trail where it started. In
half an hour, if you don't strike something big, you can drive back
here on the jump for further orders. And don't forget the use of
the 'phone, if you're at a distance. Also, if you strike something,
and want to follow it further, you can have Darrin drive in with
anything that you've struck up to the minute. Hustle, both of you.
And, Darrin, we'll pay you for your trouble tonight."
Horse and buggy were soon at the door. Dick sprang in, picking
up the reins. Dave leaped in at the other side. The horse started
away at a steady trot.
"I hope those boys have brains enough not to go right past the
story," mused Bradley, gazing after the buggy before he went back
to his desk. "But I guess Prescott always has his head squarely
on his shoulders. He does, in school athletics, anyway. Len
Spencer is the man for this job, so of course Len had to be laid
up with a cold and fever that would make it murder to send him
out tonight."
Horse and buggy were soon at the door. Dick sprang in, picking
up the reins. Dave leaped in at the other side. The horse started
away at a steady trot.
"I hope those boys have brains enough not to go right past the
story," mused Bradley, gazing after the buggy before he went back
to his desk. "But I guess Prescott always has his head squarely
on his shoulders. He does, in school athletics, anyway. Len
Spencer is the man for this job, so of course Len had to be laid
up with a cold and fever that would make it murder to send him
out to-night."
"Dick," muttered Dave excitedly, "you've simply got to make good.
This isn't simply a little paragraph to be scribbled. It's a
mystery and is going to be the sensation of the day. This is
the kind of story that full-fledged reporters on the great dailies
have to handle."
"Yes," laughed Dick, "and those reporters never get flurried.
I'm not going to allow myself any excitement, either."
"No, but you want to get the story---all of it."
"Of course I do," Prescott agreed quietly.
"If you do this in bang-up shape," Dave went on enthusiastically,
"it's likely to be the making of you!"
"How?" queried Dick, turning around to his chum.
"Why, success on a big story would fairly launch you in journalism.
It would provide your career as soon as you're through High School."
"I don't want a career at the end of the High School course,"
Dick returned. "I'm going further, and try to fare better in
life."
"Wouldn't you like to be a newspaper man for good?" demanded Dave.
"Not on a small-fry paper, anyway" replied Prescott. "Why, Bradley
is news editor, and has been in the business for years. He gets
about thirty dollars a week. I don't believe Pollock, who has
charge of the paper, gets more than forty-five. That isn't return
enough for a man who is putting in his whole life at the business."
"Thirty dollars has the sound of pretty large money," mused Dave.
"As for forty-five, if that's what Mr. Pollock gets, look at the
comfort he lives in at his club; and he's a real estate owner, too."
"Yes," Dick admitted. "But that's because Pollock follows two
callings. He's an editor and a dealer in real estate. As for
me, I'd rather put all my energies into one line of work."
"Then you believe you're going to earn more money than Pollock
does?" questioned Dave, rather wonderingly.
"If I pick out a career for income," Dick responded, "I do intend
to go in for larger returns. But I may go into another calling
where the pay doesn't so much matter."
"Such as what?"
"Dave, old fellow, can you keep a secret?"
"Bosh! You know I can."
"A big secret?"
"Stop that!"
"Well, I'll tell you, Dave. By and by there are going to be,
in this state, two appointments to cadetships at West Point.
Our Congressman will have one appointment. Senator Alden will
have the other. Now, in this state, appointments to West Point
are almost always thrown open to competitive examination. All
the fellows who want to go to West Point get together, at the
call, and are examined. The fellow who comes off best is passed
on to West Point to try his luck."
"And you think you can prove that you're the brightest fellow
in the district?" laughed Dave good-humoredly.
"There are to be two chances, and I think I can prove that I'm
one of the two brightest to apply. And Dave!"
"Well?"
"Why don't you go in to prove that you're the other brightest
fellow. Just think! West Point! And the Army for a life career!"
"I think I'd rather scheme to go to the Naval Academy, and become
an officer of the Navy," returned Dave slowly. "The big battleships
appeal to me more than does the saddle of the cavalryman."
"Go to Indianapolis?" muttered Dick, in near-disgust. "Well,
I suppose that will do well enough for a fellow who can't get
to West Point."
"Now, see here," protested Dave good-humoredly, though warmly,
"you quit talking about Indianapolis. That's a favorite trick
with fellows who are cracked on West Point. You know, as well
as I do, that the Naval Academy is at Annapolis. There's a vacancy
ahead for Annapolis, too."
"Oho! You've been thinking of that?" demanded Dick, again looking
into his chum's eyes.
"Yes."
"Yes; if I can come out best in a competitive examination of the
boys of this district."
"Two secrets, then---yours and mine," grinned Prescott. "However,
it'll be easier for you."
"Why?"
"There aren't so many fellows eager to go to the Naval Academy.
It doesn't draw as hard as the Army does."
"The dickens it doesn't!" ejaculated Dave Darrin.
"No; the Navy doesn't catch young enthusiasm the way the Army
does. You won't have so many fellows to compete with as I shall,"
said Dick.
"I'll have twice as many---three times as many," flared Darrin.
"The Naval Academy is the only real and popular school in the
United Service."
"Well, we won't quarrel," laughed young Prescott. "When the time
comes we'll probably find smarter young fellows ahead of us, headed
for both academies."
"If you do fail on West Point-----?" quizzed Dave.
"_If_ I do," declared Dick, with a very wistful emphasis on that
"if," "then, after getting through High School I'll probably try
to put in a year or two of hard work on 'The Blade,' to help my
parents put me through college. They're anxious to make me a
college man, and they'd work and save hard for it, but I wouldn't
be much good if I didn't try to earn a lot of the expense money.
One thing I'm resolved upon---I'm not going to go through life
as a half-educated man. It is becoming more true, every year,
that there's little show for the man with only the half-formed
mind."
Then the two turned back to the subject that had brought them
out on this September night---the disappearance of Banker Theodore
Dodge.
"In a minute or two we'll be in sight of the river bend," announced
Darrin.
"There it is, now," nodded Dick, slowing down the horse and gazing
over yonder. "Some one is there, and looking hard for something."
"Yes; I make out a couple of lanterns," assented Dave. "Well"---as
Dick pulled in the horse---"aren't you going to drive over there?"
"That's what I want to think about," declared young Prescott.
"I want to go at the job the right way---the way that real newspapermen
would use."