The Message from the Unknown
With the Christmas holidays Phin Drayne came home, to stay so
far as school was concerned.
After his unhappy experience at the Fordham Military Institute,
Phin had found things almost as unpleasant at Wilburville Academy.
For some reason the boys at Wilburville hadn't taken to him.
Phin had come to the conclusion that he wasn't appreciated anywhere
save at home, so back he came, disgusted with the idea of carrying
his education any further.
As a natural sequence, Drayne took to lounging about the streets.
High School boys and girls no longer paid any heed to him, so
he did not fear slight or insult.
Two nights in every week Dick and Dave went faithfully to the
High School gym. to help Mr. Morton with the new evening classes
in training.
One afternoon Prescott and Darrin encountered good old Dr. Thornton,
the principal, who asked them how they were coming along.
"We're pretty busy," Dick admitted. "Still, it does seem rather
hard to us not to be connected with the High School any more."
"Why, you are with us yet, and of us!" cried the principal. "I
carry your names on the rolls, with 'excused' written against
your names. If you don't believe that you're still of my High
School boys, then drop in any day and take your places, for an
hour, or as long as you please, at your old desks. You will find
them still reserved for you."
"Now, isn't that mighty decent of old Prin.!" demanded Dave, after
the two chums had thanked Dr. Thornton, and had gone on their
way. "So we still belong to old Gridley High School?"
"We always shall, I reckon," declared Dick. "Gridley High School
has done everything for us, and has given us our start and most
of our pleasures in life."
"I'm going to drop in, one of these January days," murmured Dave.
"And so am I. But," added Dick, with a smile, "don't let us be
indiscreet and be roped into going into a recitation. We'll find
the class has been moving ahead while we've been boning over West
Point and Annapolis requirements."
"At all events, none of them ought to be ahead of us when we've
gone four years further," contended Dave. "At West Point or Annapolis
we have to grind in a way that is never required of mere college
men. We ought to be miles ahead of any fellow who has just finished
at High School and then has put in four years only at college."
Thus the happy young egotists always talked, nowadays. To them
there was really little in life that did not come through the
government military academies.
Phin Drayne, lounging about purposely, with the shambling gait,
often saw these happy chums, and scowled after them.
"Everything seems to come to them!" growled Phin. "What rot it
is to say that this is a square world, and that everyone has the
same chance! Why doesn't something good come my way?"
The oftener Phin looked in the direction of the chums, and more
particularly of Dick, the blacker did Drayne's thoughts become.
"Prescott has had everything come his way ever since he entered
High School," growled Phin. "And now the mucker is going off
to West Point, and the government is going to stamp him 'gentleman.'
A gentleman? Pooh! I'd like to show him up, as a bumptious upstart.
Phin scowled fiercely for a moment, before he added:
"And, by glory, I will do something to him! I'll take the conceit
out of Dick Prescott!"
At first it was only the purpose that formed in Drayne's dark
mind. But, by dint of much thinking, he began to feel that he
saw the way of working to Prescott's complete disgrace.
Dick, in the meantime, was still writing occasionally for "The
Blade."
"I'm afraid you've slipped away from us, Dick," declared Mr. Pollock,
with a wry smile. "If you go to West Point and pass the exams.
there, then newspaper work is going to lose one of its bright,
promising young men."
"But I always told you that my plans would undoubtedly take me
away from 'The Blade' when my High School life was done with,"
Prescott answered.
"Yes; but why do you want the life of the uniform? That's what
I fail to understand? Why don't you go into something connected
with the pulsing everyday life of the country? Here you are,
going away to bury yourself in a uniform. You'll work, of course;
the Army is no place for loafers. But after all, you're only
preparing for war, and you may be an old, white-haired officer
before we have another war."
"If that war does come in your life time," returned Dick, "you'll
know what we of the uniforms have been working for all along.
You'll realize, then, that an Army's biggest work isn't fighting,
in time of war, but preparing in time of peace. And you'll thank
every one of us when the time comes."
"Oh, yes, I suppose so," smiled the editor. "But it all seems
so far away. Now, here is something much more practical right
at hand. Take these burglaries that have been annoying the small
merchants lately. The police don't seem to be able to catch the
fellow. For the last three days I've taken Len Spencer off of
all other work and set him to trying to run down the burglar.
Now, Len isn't afraid of much, and he's one of the brightest
young reporters going. Yet Len admits he's stumped. All the
while the merchants are fearing that the burglar will bring about
bigger losses. Dick Prescott, if you could catch that burglar,
and see him sent off where he belongs, you'd be doing a vastly
greater service to the community than you possibly could by helping
the country prepare for a war that is thirty or forty years away."
"I wouldn't mind having a crack at the burglar scare, either,"
laughed Dick. "But the question is, how am I going to go about
it to catch the fellow? He has baffled all the police, and even
Len Spencer. What show have I for finding the rascal?"
"Just the same, Dick, I believe you would catch him, if you'd
set your mind and your energies to it. Will you do it? Will
you put in a week trying to run down this burglar and give 'The
Blade' the first chance at the story? I'll agree, in advance,
to pay you for whatever time you'll put in on it for a week, if
even you are not successful in running him down."
"I'll think it over," Dick replied, with a quiet smile. "I'll
talk it over with Dave."
"There's another mighty bright young fellow!" cried the editor.
"Now, why can't you get Darrin to go into it with you? I'll
pay Darrin for his time, too."
Dave, when the project was sprung on him, gave his hearty assent.
"It won't do any harm to have a try at it, anyway, Dick," urged
Darrin. "It'll wake us up a bit, too. Not that I've any real
and abiding idea that we're going to catch Mr. Burglar."
"If we're in earnest we're going to catch him," declared Prescott.
"That's the old Gridley High School way, you know. What well
start on we've got to put through."
Night after night, in that cold January week, Dick and Dave slipped
out late at night, and prowled about through the business district
of Gridley. Very often the chums ran across the police, but both
were known well to the police, and were not challenged. Indeed,
the police soon learned that Dick and Dave were employed by "The
Blade" for the purpose of assisting in the efforts to capture
the mysterious burglar or burglars.
In that week two more "breaks" happened, and each time the thief
or thieves got away with valuable booty.
"You youngsters don't seem to be having any luck," remarked Editor
Pollock. "But keep on the case a little longer. I know you'll
land something sooner or later. Keep ahead, just as if you had
to score a touchdown before the half was over."
So for two nights Dick and Dave kept out, with equally bad luck.
One night at eleven o'clock Dick answered the home telephone.
He listened in amazement, then tried to find out who his informant
was, but the latter rang off promptly.
"I believe that is straight," muttered Dick. "At all events,
I'll look into this game for all it's worth. What if we are about
to catch the thief red-handed?"
Snatching up a heavy walking stick, Dick Prescott hurriedly quitted
the house.