A DISAPPOINTMENT
For a few moments the boys stood there almost spellbound, gazing at the
startled farmer, on whose face the look of pain increased.
“How did it happen?” demanded Jerry, when the intruder into the
professor’s room had succeeded in shaking off the two beetles, and was
looking critically at his injured thumbs. The insects had drawn blood.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” answered the professor, as he made a grab
for a large bug that was trying to get down a crack, for some of the
scientist’s specimens were very lively. “I’m sure I don’t know. I was
sleeping peacefully, when I was suddenly awakened by this man shouting.”
“How did you come to get the beetles?” asked Jerry, looking severely at
Mr. Buttle.
“I didn’t git ’em, they got me,” he declared. “Th’ consarned critters
pinch wuss than lobsters.”
“They _are_ a form of land lobster,” the professor explained as he
carefully caught the two beetles in a box and closed the lid. “But I
don’t see how they got out. I had the top securely closed.”
“Perhaps Mr. Buttle can explain,” remarked Ned significantly. That
individual squirmed uneasily.
“Wa’al, I got t’ thinkin’ in th’ night, that maybe th’ professor might
need a drink of water,” explained the farmer, “’count of him eatin’
so much ham. So I brung some water up. There’s the pitcher,” and he
pointed to one, in proof of his assertion. “I knocked on th’ door,” he
went on, “but th’ professor didn’t answer, an’ then I thought it’d be
a pity to wake him up. So I thought I’d jest push th’ door open, an’
leave th’ water where he could git it.
“Wa’al, I done so, an’ I were jest leavin’ when them two big black bugs
jumped out of th’ darkness an’ grabbed me. Then I let out a yell.”
“Yes, we heard you yell,” spoke Bob gently, and Ned felt like laughing,
only the matter seemed to be too serious.
“I don’t see how those horned beetles could get out when the boxes were
tightly fastened,” observed the professor simply.
“Wa’al, they got out all right, an’ they got on me,” went on the
farmer. “Ef I git blood poison I’ll have t’ sue ye.”
“You had no right to come in the room of Mr. Snodgrass without
knocking, or telling him,” said Jerry.
“I didn’t want to wake him up, when I brought in th’ water. An’ look at
my door--all busted!” proceeded the farmer indignantly, looking at the
portal Jerry had smashed. “Somebody’s got t’ pay fer that.”
“Yes, we’ll settle,” agreed Jerry, and then, as if fearing he might be
asked embarrassing questions, Mr. Buttle suddenly departed, tramping
indignantly down the stairs, and muttering meanwhile something about
“crazy automobile folks thet carried wild animals with ’em!”
“Well, what do you think, fellows?” asked Ned, as they stood looking at
each other in the dim illumination of the electric light Bob held.
“It looks rather funny,” declared the stout youth.
“It wouldn’t have been funny if my specimens had gotten away,” observed
the scientist. “He knocked down the whole pile of boxes at my head, and
that’s how some of them must have come open.”
“No, that’s not the way,” was Jerry’s opinion. “I’ll tell you what
I think. I believe our host is a dangerous character, and I think he
sneaked up, hoping the professor had money in those boxes. He was going
to rob him, but the beetles turned the trick.”
“Do you really think so?” inquired Mr. Snodgrass.
“I certainly do,” replied the tall lad.
“And I agree with him,” added Ned. “I remember now that the professor
spoke of his ‘valuables’ in the boxes, and I saw Mr. Buttle looking at
him rather sharply. That’s just how it was. He thought he was going to
make a good haul.”
“It’s lucky we weren’t all murdered in our sleep,” exclaimed Bob, with
a nervous look around.
“Oh, hardly as bad as that, I think,” came from Jerry. “However, Mr.
Buttle has had his lesson, and I think he won’t sneak around us again.
He must have unlocked the professor’s door with a duplicate key, and
when he pushed the chair across the floor that woke me up.”
Jerry’s explanation was accepted, and they went back to bed, but it was
some time before they got to sleep. When Jerry awoke again it was just
getting light, and as he was as anxious as was Ned to be on the road
again, he roused his companions. Professor Snodgrass was already up,
making a careful inspection of his specimen boxes by daylight, to see
if any of the bugs had escaped. He found them all intact.
“What shall we do; take chances on having breakfast with Mr. Buttle?”
asked Ned, as they were ready to go down stairs.
“I vote that we pay him what we owe him, and go on to the next town for
breakfast,” spoke Ned. “We can put the tire on, and make good time.
It’s stopped raining.”
“Well, I’m pretty hungry,” remarked Bob with a woebegone face, “and
it’s no fun putting on a tire without your breakfast, but I wouldn’t
want him to poison us, and he might do it to get even.”
“Then we’ll start off and hunt our own breakfast,” decided Jerry. When
they went downstairs they found no signs of their host. Evidently he
did not care to meet them face to face in daylight. So, after leaving
where he would see it a sum of money sufficient to pay for their supper
and the night’s lodging, and also to repair the broken door, our
friends departed. Jerry left a note, stating what the money was for.
They found their auto undisturbed, and soon had the tire repaired.
They kept a lookout for the farmer, whom they believed to be a rascal,
but saw no signs of him, and made good time to the next town, where
they got a good breakfast at the hotel. There, having mentioned the
fact that they had spent the night with Mr. Buttle, they were told that
they had taken a big chance.
“That fellow’s a regular hold-up man,” said the hotel clerk. “He makes
a practice of swindling autoists. It’s been said that he puts tacks and
glass in the road, so they’ll get damaged tires right in front of his
place, and then when they halt to make repairs, he comes out and offers
to sell food at about three times the market prices. That’s the way he
makes his living, instead of farming it. He ‘grafts’ on the autoists.”
“Well, he’ll be careful how he tackles this party another time,”
remarked Jerry significantly.
They had left bad roads behind, and now, spinning over hard and smooth
highways, they found themselves, a little after nine o’clock that
morning, in the city of Durham.
“Now for Mr. Jackson!” cried Ned, as they inquired the way to the
sanitarium where the millionaire operator was staying.
Up the broad road, through the entrance gates went our heroes. The
place was attractively laid out, and was quite celebrated as a health
resort for overworked men and women of the wealthy and fashionable
class.
“We’ll let you do the talking, at first, Professor,” decided Ned, as he
guided the car around the turns in the road.
“Yes, I’ll be glad to meet my friend Mr. Jackson again. I think--hold
on just a moment, Ned. I think I see a rare kind of beetle.”
The boys were in a hurry, but the memory of the good service the
professor’s beetles had done the previous night made them willing to
stop the car. Mr. Snodgrass got out, and succeeded in capturing a bug,
the possession of which seemed to give him great delight. Then Ned
speeded up the machine as the latest specimen was carefully put away.
They came to a halt in front of a sort of hotel-sanitarium, and Ned and
Mr. Snodgrass went to the front door.
“Well, now, I’m real sorry, but you’ve had your trip for nothing,” the
manager informed them, when they had stated whom they wished to see.
“Why, isn’t Mr. Jackson here?” asked Ned anxiously.
“He was here, up to last night. But he went away suddenly, and he won’t
be back.”
“Where has he gone?” asked the professor.
“Out to the big airship and balloon meet at Danforth.”
“To a balloon meet?” repeated Ned in surprise.
“Yes. Didn’t you know that Mr. Jackson was an enthusiastic balloonist
and aviator?”
“I knew he had many fads,” spoke the professor, “but I didn’t know he
included ballooning among them.”
“Oh, yes,” went on the manager. “He is much interested in all sorts of
air craft. In fact he talked of nothing else while he was here. He has
invented some sort of dirigible balloon, or aeroplane--some kind of air
machine. I’m not very well up on them, so I can’t describe it to you.
I believe he is going to enter it at the Danforth meet. I’m sorry, but
you’re just too late to catch him.”
“So are we,” agreed Ned sorrowfully. He knew his father would be much
disappointed, but there was no help for it. Despondently the merchant’s
son turned and followed the professor out of the hotel. Jerry and Bob
sat in the auto waiting for them.
“Well, what luck?” asked the tall lad, as his chum approached.
“He’s just left,” answered Mr. Snodgrass.
“Gone ballooning,” added Ned. “Out to the Danforth meet and that’s just
outside of New York. We’ll never catch him, now.”
“Yes, we will!” cried Jerry suddenly.
“How?”
“In our motor-ship _Comet_!” exclaimed the tall lad. “We’ll fix that
up, and get right on the trail of Mr. Jackson again. Come on, Ned. Back
tracks for Cresville, and then for another voyage through the air!”