An Attack
The airplane crash was a front-page feature in the newspapers of Bayport
for several days thereafter, and the Hardy boys learned that the post
office department was conducting an investigation into the cause of the
affair.
Several reporters called on Frank and Joe Hardy to learn their version
of the accident, and although the boys told exactly how the crash
occurred, they were disturbed to find that considerable space was given
to Giles Ducroy’s account. Ducroy was not backward in laying the blame
upon the Hardy boys.
“My plane cracked up simply because I was trying to avoid hitting the
car,” he said, in an interview. “The boys deliberately drove their
roadster ahead so that I was unable to find a landing place until it was
too late. They confused me so much that the accident was the result.”
All this looked very bad in cold print, and one of the newspapers hinted
that the post office department might take action against the boys if
Ducroy’s story was upheld.
“Don’t worry about it,” Fenton Hardy advised. “Don’t let it be on your
minds while you are writing examination papers.”
This counsel was sound. The lads were busy writing their final
examinations and upon the result would depend their graduation from the
high school that year. If they failed, it would mean another term, and a
year’s work wasted.
Both Frank and Joe had studied hard and were well up in their work.
Under ordinary circumstances they would have had little doubt of the
outcome, but with the Ducroy affair on their minds they could not
concentrate on their studies as well as they might have done otherwise.
Frank shook his head mournfully when the boys left school the afternoon
of the geometry examination.
“How do you think you made out?” he asked Joe.
“Not so good.”
“I’m sure I failed.”
“It was a tough exam. Everybody says so.”
“I know it was tough, but I couldn’t help thinking of the trouble we’ll
be in if the post office people decide we’re to blame for that
accident.”
“It was in my mind too,” Joe admitted, “Still we know it wasn’t our
fault.”
“Of course it wasn’t. But the chances are that they’ll believe Ducroy,
seeing he’s one of their own pilots.”
“If they blame us, we’ll fight it. We’ll tell them Ducroy was drunk.”
“Perhaps they won’t even listen to us,” said Frank.
The boys went on down the street toward the downtown section. Joe caught
sight of a familiar name in a newspaper headline.
“This looks interesting,” he remarked. When he bought the paper, the two
stood on the corner to read it.
“Post Office Department Discharges Giles Ducroy,” read the
headline. “Air Mail Pilot Released Following Crash Near Local
Airport.”
Joe whistled softly. The boys read further:
“It was announced to-day at post office headquarters that the
resignation of Giles Ducroy, pilot in charge of the mail plane
that crashed on the airport road last Saturday, had been
requested by the department. Ducroy handed in his resignation
early this afternoon and is no longer with the service. It was
stated that information had come into possession of the
department to the effect that Ducroy had been drinking heavily
on the day of the crash and that he had been drinking for
several days previous. According to officials, the pilot had
been warned several times that his bad habits would get him into
trouble, and although he promised to mend his ways he had
evidently failed to do so. Other aviators claimed that Ducroy
was a menace to the air service and that he should not be
permitted to handle a plane. His flying license has been
canceled.”
The Hardy boys looked at one another in silence.
“I guess that will clear us,” said Frank finally.
“It doesn’t say so.”
“They can’t very well blame us after that.”
A familiar voice broke in:
“Hi, there! Hear the news?”
The Hardy boys looked up to see Chet Morton, one of their chums,
approaching. Chet, too, had a newspaper under his arm.
“We were just reading it,” said Joe.
“It was coming to him,” declared Chet warmly. “I was talking to one of
the men at the airport yesterday, and he said Ducroy ought to be fired.
He was always drinking. None of them were surprised when he had that
crash.”
“I’m sorry he has lost his job,” said Frank, “but I guess he deserved
it. If they let him stay on he might get into a serious accident and
kill somebody.”
“He mighty nearly killed us,” Joe reminded him. “If I only knew that
this meant we were clear of blame I could write the rest of my exams
with an easy mind.”
“Don’t worry,” advised Chet. “They won’t blame you chaps. The very fact
that Ducroy has been let out means that they didn’t believe his story.”
Suddenly Frank nudged his brother.
“Here he comes now.”
“Who?”
“Ducroy,” whispered Frank.
Joe looked around. Coming down the street he saw the former air pilot.
Ducroy’s face wore an angry look and he appeared not to notice the
stares and the comments of the people near by.
“Don’t pay any attention to him,” said Joe. “There’s no use looking for
trouble.”
But, if the Hardy boys were not going to pay any attention to Giles
Ducroy, it soon became apparent that the pilot intended to pay some
attention to them. He changed his course and came over toward the three
boys.
“Now what’s the big idea?” muttered Chet.
Ducroy blustered toward them. He faced Frank and Joe angrily, brushing
Chet to one side.
“Well,” he sneered, “I suppose you’re satisfied now?”
“What do you mean?” asked Frank.
“I suppose you’re satisfied now that you’ve lost me my job?” demanded
Ducroy.
“You lost it yourself,” returned Frank. “We didn’t have anything to do
with it.”
“You didn’t, hey? It was your fool driving that caused the crash, and it
was because of the crash that I got fired.”
“The paper says something different,” said Joe calmly.
“It says I got fired because I was drunk, and I was as sober as I am
now.”
“And you’re not any too sober now, either,” Chet reminded him sweetly.
Ducroy turned to him. “You keep out of this,” he snapped. “This is none
of your business. I’ll thank you to keep your mouth shut.”
“Seeing you ask me so nicely, I will.”
Ducroy turned to the Hardy boys again. “I’m not through with you two
yet,” he said. “I may have lost my job, but I’m going to get some
satisfaction, anyway.”
“How?” asked Frank.
By way of reply, Ducroy drew back his right arm and lashed out suddenly.
His fist struck Frank in the face and sent the youth staggering back.
The blow had come so abruptly that he had no chance to defend himself.
But Joe, when he saw his brother attacked, lost no time in getting into
action. He plunged at Ducroy without hesitation and planted a swinging
blow on the pilot’s right eye, completely closing it. Ducroy gave a yell
of pain and struck at Joe, but the blow was wild.
Frank recovered himself.
“Let me handle this,” he said to his brother. And with no further ado he
advanced on Ducroy.
The pilot swung at him, but Frank ducked, came in, and stung Ducroy’s
face with an uppercut. Ducroy was bigger than Frank and considerably
heavier, but he was far from being a scientific fighter, relying chiefly
on bull-like rushes and ponderous swinging blows that would have done
damage had they landed, but seldom did. Ducroy rushed Frank back across
the pavement, his heavy fists swinging, but Frank backed away, ducking
and dodging, watching for an opening.
It soon came.
Ducroy swung so wildly that he left himself completely unprotected.
Frank’s fist shot out. The blow caught Ducroy directly on the point of
the jaw, and he went down in a heap.
“Is that enough?” asked Frank.
A crowd had collected, and Con Riley of the Bayport police force
hastened forward.
“What’s all this?” he demanded. “Fightin’ on the streets? What’s the
trouble?”
Frank turned away. “Just a little argument,” he explained. “This man hit
me first and I had to hit him back.”
“That’s right,” chimed in Chet Morton. “I saw it all. I can prove it.”
Giles Ducroy got slowly to his feet and Riley seized him by the collar.
“I got a good mind to run you in,” said the officer. “What business have
you got hittin’ a lad half your size?”
“I don’t want to lay any charge against him,” said Frank. “Better let
him go.”
Con Riley looked dubious. Then he released his grip on Ducroy’s collar.
“Well, seein’ you ask it,” he said. Then he glared at Ducroy. “Take
yourself out of here!” he ordered sharply. “If I catch you makin’ any
disturbance on the street again it won’t go so easy with you.”
Giles Ducroy lurched away, muttering and defeated. Con Riley then turned
his attention to the crowd and dispersed the bystanders with a wave of
his stick. “Move on!” he ordered. “Move on out of here.”
The crowd scattered.
The Hardy boys and Chet Morton continued their journey down the street.
Chet was warm in his praise of the artistic manner in which Frank had
dealt with the bully.
“I’ll bet his jaw is sore for a week!” he declared.
“I hate a row like that,” said Frank. “Dad would be angry if he knew we
were mixed up in a common street fight.”
“You couldn’t help it. You didn’t start the fight. It was all Ducroy’s
fault,” said Chet. “He struck you first. Boy, that was a nice pasting
you handed him!”
But Frank remembered the vindictive look in Ducroy’s face as the beaten
man slunk away.
“I don’t think we’ve heard the last of this, by any means,” he said.