A FIGHT IN THE DARK
There were many busy days for Dick, following his purchase of the
_Albatross_. He received word from Captain Barton that the coaling and
provisioning of the craft were proceeding satisfactorily, and that a
good crew had been signed.
Dick had invited Tim Muldoon to go on the trip, and the newsboy agreed,
after arranging with a younger brother to look after his business. Henry
Darby also planned to accompany the young millionaire, a clerk in Mr.
Hamilton's office agreeing to have an eye to the old iron business.
Bricktop Norton was to drive the horse and collect scrap for Henry.
Dick invited a number of his military academy chums to make the cruise
with him, but he received several letters of regret, the lads stating
that vacation plans, previously made by their parents, would not permit
them to accept the young millionaire's hospitality. Paul Drew was to go
and Captain Innis Beeby, the cadet commander of Company C, wrote that he
might meet Dick in Savannah, Georgia, if the yacht would stop there on
the way to Cuba.
"Of course, we'll stop for Beeby," said Dick to Paul Drew, who had
arrived at Hamilton Corners a few days before the date set for the
departure for New York.
"Yes, Beeby's good fun. We'll have a swell time on this trip, Dick."
"I hope so. I want the fellows to enjoy themselves."
Uncle Ezra paid another visit to Dick's house, though it must have cost
him a pang to part with the money for a railroad ticket. He said he had
come to make one more appeal to Dick's father, not to allow the youth to
squander his fortune on a yacht.
"It's too late, Uncle Ezra," exclaimed Dick, gaily. "I've bought the
yacht, and we shall sail in a few days."
"Well, of all the senseless, wasteful proceedings--But there, I'm done
expostulating--I'm--I'm going to----"
But the churlish old man stopped short, and closed his thin lips like a
steel trap. There was a dangerous, crafty look in his eyes, which boded
Dick no good, but the young millionaire did not see it.
The night before the wealthy lad and his friends were to leave for the
metropolis, there to go aboard the yacht, in company with Tim Muldoon,
Dick found he had to go down-town to send some telegrams, one to
Captain Barton and another to the lawyer, Mr. Blake. Paul Drew, who,
with Frank Bender and Henry Darby, was at Dick's house, volunteered to
accompany him, but our hero said he would run down with Grit, and hurry
back, leaving his friends to amuse themselves.
It was rather a dark night, with a promise of a storm, and when the
wealthy lad started out he wished that he had not gotten a puncture in
his auto tire that day, so that he might have used the car. But he had
not had the tube repaired, and the machine was out of commission.
"But we don't mind the walk, do we, Grit?" asked the lad, and the dog
whined an answer.
The messages sent, Dick started back home, hurrying along, for the first
few drops of rain were falling, and indicated a heavy storm to come. The
wind was blowing hard, and, after an effort to keep his umbrella right
side out, Dick gave it up, furled the rain-shield, and tramped on
through the drizzle, with Grit splashing at his heels.
As the young millionaire turned the corner of a dark street, before
emerging into the thoroughfare that led to his house, he collided full
tilt into a man who suddenly seemed to jump from behind a tree.
"I beg your----" began Dick, contritely, though it was not his fault.
The next instant, and before the youth had a chance to finish his
apology, he felt himself seized from behind by a second man, while the
one who had leaped out in front of him placed his hand over his mouth.
Dick felt himself being borne backward. He struggled to maintain his
footing, and struck out blindly.
He felt his fists land on soft bodies, and once an exclamation of pain
escaped his assailants.
"We've got him!" a voice whispered. "Where's the rig?"
Dick partly squirmed loose, and wrenched the man's hand from over his
mouth.
"Take 'em, Grit!" he cried, and there was a rush of feet, while a savage
growl told Dick that his faithful dog, who had lingered somewhat behind,
was about to attack the footpads.