"No sky-sailing to-day, Andy," said John Parks, the aeronaut.
"I guess you are right," answered Andy.
"A rest won't do you any harm. There are three days before the last
event, and plenty of time to try Morse's new wrinkles."
"I think I'll go and see what the latest one is," said Andy.
It was a rainy day with a strong breeze, and waste of time, Andy well
knew, to attempt any flights under the conditions. He went to the
workshop to find Mr. Morse and the Japanese deep in discussion over some
angle of a new reversible plane, they called it. Tsilsuma had become
almost a fixture at the Parks' camp. He was unobtrusive generally, but
his instincts and mission to delve and absorb were accommodated and
encouraged by the inventor, and a strong friendship had sprung up
between the two.
Andy wandered about promiscuously, time hanging heavily on his hands.
Finally he settled down in the comfortable sitting room looking over
some books on scientific subjects, and picking out here and there a
simple fact among a group of very abstruse ones.
"If ever I get any money ahead," he observed, "I'll put some of it into
education, and I'll study up aeronautics first thing. It seems as if
it's natural for me to see right through a machine first time I see it,
but I don't understand the real principles, for all that. No, sir, it's
brains like Mr. Morse has got that counts. If sky-sailing is going to
last, and I follow it up, I'm going to dig deep right down into it,
college fashion, and really understand my business. Hello!"
Andy had laid aside the scientific book and had taken up a newspaper.
Glancing over its columns, his eye became fixed upon an advertisement
occupying a prominent position just under some local reading matter.
This is what it read.
Notice--Important!
Lost--Somewhere on a train between Macon and Greenville, an old leather
pocketbook, marked Robert Webb, Springfield, and containing $200. The
finder may keep the money, and upon return of the pocketbook will be
handsomely rewarded.
West, Thorburn & Castle, _Attorneys_,
Butler Block, Greenville.
"Well," aspirated Andy energetically, "here's something new!"
The incident stirred up his thought so much that he found himself
walking the floor restlessly. Andy had a vivid imagination, and he built
up all kinds of fancies about the singular advertisement.
"Wonder what lies under all this?" ruminated Andy. "They don't want the
two hundred dollars, and they offer more money to get back that old
pocketbook! They will never get the whole of it, though, that's certain.
Gus Talbot tore off the flap of it. The rest of it--lying in my old
clothes in that shed on the Collins farm, where I helped drive those
geese. There was nothing left in the pocketbook, I am sure of that. What
can they want it for, then? Evidently Mr. Webb didn't get my postal
card."
Andy could not figure this out. He found it impossible, however, to
dismiss the subject from his mind.
"People don't go to all the bother that advertising shows," he reasoned,
"unless it's mighty important. Can I get the pocketbook, though, after
all. I threw it carelessly up on a sort of a shelf in that old shed, and
it may have been removed and destroyed with other rubbish. I've got the
day before me, with nothing to do. I wouldn't be at all sorry if the two
hundred dollars came my way in a fair, square manner. I'll run down to
Greenville. It won't take four hours, there and back. I'll see what
there is to this affair--yes, I'll do it."
Andy sought out Mr. Parks and told him he was going to take a run down
to Greenville on business, and would be back by evening at the latest.
He caught a train about ten o'clock, and noon found him at the door of
the law offices of West, Thorburn & Castle, Butler Block. Our hero
entered one of three offices, where he saw a gentleman seated at a desk.
"I would like to see some member of the firm," he said.
"I am Mr. West," answered the lawyer.
"It is about an advertisement you put in the paper about a lost
pocketbook," explained Andy.
"Oh, indeed," said Mr. West, looking interested at once, and arising and
closing the door. "Do you know something about it?"
"I know all about it," declared Andy. "In fact, I found it only a few
minutes after it was lost."
"On the train?"
"No, sir. Mr. Webb did not lose it on the train."
"He thinks he did."
"He is mistaken," said Andy. "He lost it in an automobile that took him
on a rush run from Princeville across country to Macon. I was his
chauffeur, and found it."
"Where is the pocketbook?" inquired the lawyer eagerly. "Have you
brought it with you?"
"No, sir; but I think I can get it."
"We will make it richly worth your while," said Mr. West.
"There is something I had better explain about it," said Andy.
"Spent the two hundred dollars?" insinuated the lawyer, with an
indulgent smile.
"Oh, no--the two hundred dollars is waiting for Mr. Webb to claim it with
Mr. Dawson, the banker at Princeville. Let me tell you my story, Mr.
West, and then you will understand better."
Andy told his story. He had a surprised, but intent listener. When he
had concluded, the lawyer shook his hand warmly.
"Young man, you are a good, honest young fellow, and you will not regret
acting square in this affair. Mr. Webb did not get your postal card,
because he is no longer located at Springfield. How far from here is the
farm you spoke of where you left the pocketbook?"
"About eighteen miles, I should think."
"Can you get there by rail?"
"Within two miles of it."
"And soon?"
"Why, yes, sir," replied Andy, glancing at his watch. "There is a train
west in a quarter of an hour."
"At any expense," said Mr. West earnestly, "get there and return with
the pocketbook. As to your reward----"
"Don't speak of it," said Andy. "Mr. Webb treated me handsomely when I
brought him over to Macon. I can't imagine, though, why he puts so much
store by the pocketbook."
"If you find it, he will tell you why," responded Mr. West. "You will be
doing the best piece of work you ever did in finding that pocketbook. I
shall telegraph my client to come here at once. He will be here by four
o'clock."
"And I will be here not more than an hour later," said Andy.
He left the office on a brisk walk, planning his proposed route to the
old farm. As he reached the street, he again glanced at his watch and
found he had just ten minutes to reach the depot. Andy made a running
spurt down the pavement.
He dodged an automobile speeding around a corner, heard its driver shout
something he did not catch. Then he heard the machine turn and start
furiously down the street in the direction he was going.
Andy saw some people stare at him, halt, and then look towards the
speeding machine. Wondering what was up, he glanced back to notice the
driver of the machine waving one hand frantically towards him as if bent
on overtaking him.
At the same moment the man in the machine bawled out:
"Hey, stop that boy!"