"There, I guess you have seen the last of them, Gus," said Dave, when he and the big youth had given up the chase.

"Do you really think so?"

"I feel sure of it."

"Maybe they took you for some officer of the law."

"I don't know as to that, but they were thoroughly scared. I don't believe they will ever show their faces near Oakdale again."

"But they may write to Doctor Clay."

"I shouldn't worry about that, Gus. They will make themselves as scarce as possible, for they will now know that Dodsworth Sadler is on the lookout for them."

"Don't you think we ought to let Dodsworth Sadler know about this? I might write him an anonymous letter."

"You won't have to, Gus. I'll write him a letter, telling of what I heard. That won't bring you into it at all, and as I had nothing to do with Blodgett and Volney, those fellows can't hurt me."

"Oh, Dave, what a head you've got for things!" cried the former bully, admiringly. "I suppose you'll say you simply overheard the talk while you were in Oakdale."

"Yes, and I'll add that when the swindlers found out I knew the truth, they jumped on a freight-train and ran away."

When the two boys returned to Oak Hall, Gus Plum felt in better spirits than he had for a long time. He returned the money to Dave and thanked him over and over for all he had done. Dave penned the letter to Dodsworth Sadler without delay, and it was posted early Monday morning.

"I hope I get a letter from my uncle to-day," said Dave to Roger. But no communication came, for Dunston Porter had gone to Boston on business, and did not return to Crumville for several days.

The weather was now clear and bright and the wind had swept a good portion of the river clear of snow. As a consequence many of the boys went out skating, while a few brought out the ice-boats they had constructed.

Among the latter affairs was the Snowbird, built by two students named Messmer and Henshaw. It was not a handsome craft, but it could make good speed, and that was what the boys wanted.

"Come on for a sail, Dave!" called Henshaw, after school-hours on Tuesday. "It's just grand on the river."

"I was going skating with Roger and Phil," was the reply. "Otherwise I'd like to go first-rate."

"Tell them to come too," said Messmer, a lad who always liked to have company on his rides.

The matter was quickly arranged, and Shadow Hamilton was also included in the party. The ice-boat was rather crowded, but that only added to the sport.

"Hold tight, everybody!" cried Henshaw, as he raised the sail. There was a good, stiff breeze, and in a minute the Snowbird was bowling along in grand style, the students shrieking their delight as they passed their numerous friends on skates.

"Come along and race!" cried Roger, to Sam Day.

"Give me a tow and I will," was the merry reply.

"Be sure to return when you get back!" called out Ben Basswood, and this remark caused a general laugh.

"Do you remember the ice-boat race we had with the Rockville cadets?" said Messmer.

"Yes, and the accident," replied Dave. "We don't want to run into anything again."

"I say, fellows, let us visit that cabin on the island!" cried Roger. "Maybe we'll find out something more about Pud Frodel and that other fellow."

The senator's son referred to a cabin located on a lonely island some distance from Oak Hall. Here it was that the lads had discovered the two robbers with whom Nick Jasniff had been associated, and had given to the authorities the information which had led to the rascals' capture.

"I'm willing to go," said Henshaw. "Only we can't stay on the island too long, for we'll have to get back before it gets too dark."

As the ice-boat swept along they passed quite a number of boys on skates. Presently they came to a crowd of six, all attired in neat semi-military uniforms.

"Hello, Oak Hall!" was the cry.

"Hello, Rockville!"

"Where are you going with that tub?"

"Looking for another Rockville boat to beat!" sang out Henshaw. How he had once won an ice-boat race against the military academy lads is already known to my old readers.

"Go along, we're going to build a boat that will leave you away behind," retorted one of the Rockville cadets.

"Brag is a good hoss, but Get-there takes the oats!" cried Dave, and then the Snowbird swept out of hearing of the military academy lads.

"They didn't like it at all, that we beat them," was Roger's comment. "Wonder if they will try to build a swifter boat?"

"Let them come on," answered Dave. "We can build another boat, too, if it's necessary."

"Say, their blowing puts me in mind of a story," came from Shadow Hamilton. "Two little boys——"

"Oh, Shadow, another?" groaned Messmer, reproachfully.

"Let him tell it, it will help to pass the time," remarked Henshaw. "I know it's all about two poor lads who were caught in a snowstorm and had to shovel their way out with nothing but toothpicks."

"No, it's about two boys who sold suspension bridges for a living," cried Dave, merrily. "They sold as high as eighteen a day, and——"

"Say, if you want to hear this story, say so," demanded Shadow. "These little boys got to bragging what each could do. Says one, 'I kin climb our apple tree clear to the top.' Says the other, 'Huh! I can climb to the roof of our house.' 'Hum,' says the first boy, 'I can climb to the roof of our house, an' it's higher'n yours.' 'No, 'taint.' 'It is so—it's got a cupola on top.' 'I don't care,' cried the other boy. 'Our's is higher. It's got a mortgage on it—I heard dad say so!'" And a smile went the rounds.

Not having any other name, the boys had christened the place for which they were bound, Robber Island. It was a lonely spot, rocky in some places and covered with woods and underbrush in others. The shore was fringed with bushes, through which the driven snow had sifted to a depth of two feet and more.

"Here we are!" cried Dave, as they came in sight of one end of the island. "Lower the sail, or we'll be sliding into the trees and rocks."

They made a safe landing, and then prepared to walk to the cabin, which was some distance away. Henshaw looked doubtfully at the ice-boat.

"Think she'll be all right?" he asked, of Messmer.

"I think so."

"Oh, sure she'll be all right, with the sail down," added Roger.

"Wonder if there are any wild animals on this island?" questioned Shadow.

"Might be an elephant or two," answered Dave, "or half a dozen royal Bengal tigers."

"Quit your fooling, Dave. I reckon you wouldn't want to meet a bear or a wildcat any more than myself."

"No bears around here," said the senator's son. "Might be a wildcat though, or a fox. I'm going to get a good stick."

Each student provided himself with a stout stick, and then the whole crowd moved forward in the direction of the cabin in the center of the island, never dreaming of the astonishing adventure in store for them.



CHAPTER X

AN ADVENTURE ON ROBBER ISLAND

The way to the lonely cabin was not an easy one. There was no path, and they had to scramble over rough rocks and across fallen trees and through thick masses of brushwood. They forgot about the gully, and only remembered it when they found themselves floundering in snow up to their waists.

"For gracious' sake!" cried the senator's son, as he crawled out the best way he could. "I fancied the bottom had dropped out of everything!"

"I remember this hollow now," answered Dave. "We haven't got much further to go."

It was a clear December day and quite light under the leafless trees. There were a few evergreens scattered about, but not many, and these hung low with their weight of snow. All was intensely silent.

"This ought to be lonely enough to suit anybody," observed Henshaw. He turned to Roger. "How would you like to come out here some dark night all alone?"

"None of that for me," was the quick answer.

"Might meet a ghost," said Dave, with a smile.

"Talking of ghosts puts me in mind of a story," said Shadow. "A boy once had to go through a dark woods all alone——"

"Shadow wants to get us scared," interrupted Dave. "Oh, Shadow, I didn't think it of you! It's bad enough as it is," he went on, in seeming reproach. "Don't you know this island is haunted by the man who committed suicide here?"

"A suicide, Dave?" cried the school story-teller, forgetting all about the tale he had been on the point of relating.

"Sure. That man tried to kill his wife and seven children, and then hung himself from a tree not far from here. They say that twice a month his ghost appears."

"It's about time for the ghost now," added Roger, scenting fun. "Listen! Didn't I hear a groan!"

"Must have been that," went on Dave. "There it is again!"

"I—I didn't hear anything," faltered Shadow. He was not an excessively brave lad at the best.

"It's getting pretty dark," continued Dave. "That is when the ghost shows itself, so I've been informed. If we—— Look! look!" he yelled, pointing over Shadow's left shoulder.

The story-teller gave a leap forward and glanced around hastily. Dave was pointing to a clump of bushes.

"Wha—what did you see?" asked Shadow, in a shaking voice.

"I don't know. It was tall and white——"

"The ghost! The ghost!" yelled Roger. "It's coming for us!" And he began to run back.

Shadow gave a scream of terror and started to run also. As if by accident, Dave allowed his foot to trip the boy up, and down went the story-teller of the Hall on his face in the snow.

"Hi! hi! Don't leave me behind!" he bawled, as the others all ran. "Don't leave me!" and he scrambled up and tore along through the brushwood as if possessed. The others speedily halted and set up a shout of laughter, at which Shadow looked very sheepish.

"I—I only ran for the fun of the thing," he explained, lamely. "I knew all along there wasn't a ghost."

"Shadow shall lead the way," said Dave. "Go ahead, old fellow."

"I—er—I don't know the path," was the quick excuse. "You go on." And Shadow dropped behind once more and stuck there during the remainder of the trip.

The cabin was built of rough logs. It had been put up by some hunters years before, but the sportsmen, owing to the scarcity of game, did not come to the place any more. It was in a dilapidated condition, and the snow had driven in through the broken-out window and open doorway.

"Not a very cheerful place," observed Dave, as he led the way inside. "Let us light a torch, so we can see things."

They procured several pine sticks and soon had them lit, and holding these aloft surveyed the scene. All was very much as it had been during their former visit.

"Nothing new, so far as I can see," was Roger's comment.

"Here are some footprints in the snow," came from Messmer. "We didn't make those."

"Those are the footprints of some animal!" cried Dave. "Maybe there's a bear here after all." He smiled as he made the remark.

"Looks to me more like the tracks of a horse," answered Henshaw. "Maybe somebody came over here from the shore on horseback."

"You want to be careful—it may be a wild beast after all," observed Shadow, nervously.

At that moment came a queer sound from outside of the cabin, which caused all of the lads to start. Messmer, who had the best of the torches, dropped it, leaving them almost in darkness.

"Why, I declare——" began Dave, when a form darkened the doorway and the next instant a big, bony mule entered the old cabin and stood among them. Some of the boys were frightened and started to retreat.

"It's only a mule!" cried Dave. "I don't think he'll hurt anybody. But how in the world did he get here?"

"His halter is broken," declared Roger. "He must have run away from somewhere."

"I know that mule," declared Shadow. "He belongs to Mike Marcy."

The man he mentioned was a farmer, living in the Oakdale district. Marcy was a close-fisted fellow who never wanted the schoolboys to have any of his fruit, and Dave, through no fault of his own, had once had considerable trouble with the fellow.

"I think Shadow is right," said Dave. "I saw that mule around Marcy's place. If he ran away we ought to take him back to where he belongs."

"Perhaps you'd have some fun trying to ride him," suggested Henshaw.

"Oh, pshaw! anybody could ride that mule," declared Roger. "Why, riding a mule is as easy as riding a horse. All mules don't love to kick."

"Roger shall have the honor of riding him home," said Messmer. "Think of what a reward Mike Marcy will give you," he added, with a grin.

"Catch Marcy giving a reward," said Dave, laughing. "Why, he wouldn't fork over so much as a sour apple."

"He'd want to charge Roger for the ride."

"We can take the mule to the Hall and let Marcy come and get him," suggested Messmer.

In a spirit of mischief Shadow had taken his stick and rubbed it over the mule's hind legs. There was a sudden snort and up came the beast's feet. Bang! crack! bang! they sounded on the wall of the dilapidated cabin, and Shadow leaped for his life.

"Look out, he's in action!"

"Clear the deck for his muleship!"

"He'll have the cabin down next!" called out Dave. "Take care!"

The mule continued to kick, and, standing at his head, Dave and Roger tried in vain to quiet him. Then of a sudden came a crack of another kind and the wall of the rotted cabin fell outward and the roof began to sag.

"Out of this, all hands!" yelled Dave, and let go the mule. Roger did the same, and both ran out through the open doorway. Shadow was already outside, and Messmer and Henshaw started to follow. Then the mule turned, knocking Messmer down, and made a dash for liberty.

The cabin swayed and groaned and began to settle rapidly. Henshaw leaped out in the nick of time, one heavy log scraping his shoulder. Messmer was half dazed by the sudden turn of affairs, and before he could arise some of the roof beams began to settle across his back.

"Help! help!" he wailed. "The roof is coming down on me!"

His cry of assistance struck terror to the hearts of some of his friends, and for the moment they did not know what to do. Dave was the only one of the party who remained cool, and he rushed in and caught hold of one of the falling timbers.

"Prop them up!" he called. "Put your sticks under them—anything! If we don't, Messmer may be crushed to death!"

Roger came forward first and the others quickly followed, the mule being, for the time, forgotten. They took their heavy sticks and set them up under the falling timbers, and Henshaw rolled in a stone that chanced to be handy. These things kept the roof from coming down further, but poor Messmer was held as if in a vise and could not be extricated.

"We've got to pry the logs up a little," said Dave. "Here is a log to work with," and he pointed to one which had fallen out of the side wall.

Only one torch remained lighted, and this had to be swung into a livelier blaze, so that they could see. Then they had to start operations with care, for fear they might do more harm than good.

"If th—the logs co—come down on me they will ki—kill me!" gasped the unfortunate lad under the ruins.

"We'll not let them come down," answered Dave. "Keep perfectly still till I tell you to move."

Messmer did as directed, and Dave and the others inserted the loose log under one end of the ruins. A flat stone was used for the fulcrum, and they bore down slowly but steadily until the larger portion of the ruins was raised several inches.

"It's coming!" cried Dave. "Don't go too fast. Can you loosen yourself now, Messmer?"

"A little. Go a bit higher," was the reply.

They went up two inches more, but now the log began to crack, for the strain upon it was tremendous. Messmer heard the ominous sound, and, with a twist, loosened himself and began to crawl forth. Dave caught him by the arms.

"Out you come," he said, and gave a strong pull. And out Messmer did come, and a moment later the lever snapped in two and the ruins settled back into their former position.

"I—I think I've had a narrow escape," faltered the lucky youth, when he could speak. "Much obliged to you, Dave, for hauling me out."

"Talk about a mule kicking!" declared Henshaw. "He brought this cabin down quick enough."

"The old place was about ready to fall down," answered the senator's son. "I think I could have shoved it down myself, had I tried. But I wonder what made the mule start kicking so suddenly. He acted as if a hornet had stung him."

"I guess I was to blame," replied Shadow, sheepishly. "I rubbed him in the rear with my stick. He didn't appreciate the handling."

"By the way, where is his muleship?" cried Dave, looking around in the semi-darkness.

"Guess he's taken time by the forelock and run away," answered the senator's son.

They looked around, but could see nothing of the animal. Some marks were in the snow, losing themselves on the rocks, and that was all.

"It's time to get back to the Hall," observed Henshaw. "I am not going to lose time looking for a mule. Come on."

"We can send Mike Marcy word that his mule is on the island," suggested Dave. "That wouldn't be any more than fair. If left here alone the animal may starve to death."

"Mules don't starve so easily," answered Shadow. "I am not going to look for him any more," he added.

They were soon on their way back to the shore where they had left the Snowbird. The short winter day was drawing to a close, and it was getting colder. They walked briskly, for they feared the wind would be against them on the return to Oak Hall, and they did not wish to be late for supper, for that, at the very least, would mean a lecture from Job Haskers.

Henshaw was in the lead, and presently he came out on the shore, looked around in dazed fashion, and uttered a cry of dismay. And not without good reason.

The ice-boat had disappeared.



CHAPTER XI

A HUNT FOR AN ICE-BOAT

"It's gone!"

"Where in the world could it have gone to?"

"It was too far on the shore to be blown away."

"Can anybody have stolen the craft?"

Such were some of the words uttered as the students stood on the shore of the lonely island, gazing first in one direction and then in another. Darkness had now settled down, and they could see but little at a distance.

"I really believe somebody took the ice-boat," remarked Dave. "As the sail was down I don't see how she could budge of herself."

"Exactly my way of thinking," answered Roger. "And I've got an idea who took the craft, too."

"Those Rockville cadets?" queried Henshaw.

"Yes."

"They wouldn't be above such a piece of mischief," said Messmer. "They feel mighty sore over the way we outsailed them that time we raced."

"They'll be likely to sail the boat to our dock and leave her there," said Shadow. "Puts me in mind of a story I once heard about——"

"I don't want to listen to any stories just now," grumbled Henshaw. "I want to find that ice-boat. If we can't find her we'll have to walk home."

"What a pity we didn't bring our skates!" cried Dave. "The wind is very light, and if we had them we might catch up with whoever took the craft. I am by no means certain the Rockville cadets are guilty. When we met them they were going home, and they didn't know we were coming here."

"Nobody knew that," said Messmer.

"Who was the last person we met on the river before landing?" questioned the senator's son.

All of the boys thought for a minute.

"I saw Link Merwell," said Shadow.

"Yes, and Nat Poole was with him," answered Henshaw. "Merwell has become quite a crony of Nat Poole's since Gus Plum dropped out."

Link Merwell was a new student, who had come to Oak Hall from another boarding school some miles away. He was a tall, slim fellow with a tremendously good opinion of himself, and showed a disposition to "lord it over everybody," as Sam Day had expressed it. He was something of a dude, and it was their mutual regard for dress that caused him and Nat Poole to become intimate.

"Then I believe Poole and Merwell are the guilty parties," declared Dave. "They must have seen us land, and Poole, I know, is itching to pay us back for the way we have cut him."

"All of which doesn't bring back the ice-boat," observed Messmer. "The question is, What are we to do?"

"Hoof it back to Oak Hall—there is nothing else," answered the senator's son, sadly.

Hardly had Roger spoken when Dave heard a peculiar sound on the rocks behind the crowd. He looked back and saw Mike Marcy's mule, nibbling at some bushes.

"The mule—I'm going to catch him!" he ejaculated, and made a leap for the animal. Just as the mule turned he caught hold of the halter.

"Whoa there! Whoa, you rascal!" he cried, and then, watching his chance, he flung himself across the mule's back. The animal pranced around in a lively fashion.

"Look out, Dave, he'll throw you!"

"He'll kick you to death if he gets a chance!"

"Remember, he's a vicious beast!"

The mule continued to dance about and kicked high in the air, throwing Dave well forward. But the boy who had been brought up on a farm clung on, grasping the mule's ears to steady himself. Then of a sudden the mule turned and dashed away through the bushes.

"He's running away with Dave!"

"Look out for the tree branches!"

Dave paid no attention to the cries. He had all he could do to keep from falling under the animal. Away went boy and mule, over the rough rocks in a fashion which nearly jounced the breath from the rider's body. Then, just as they came close to some low-hanging trees where Dave felt certain he would be hurt, the mule turned again, leaped for the shore, and sped out on the ice of the river.

"So that's your game!" cried Dave, between his set teeth. "All right; if you want to run you can carry me all the way to Oak Hall!"

Away went the mule, as if accustomed to run over the ice all his life. He was a sure-footed creature and took only one or two slides, which amounted to nothing. The boys on the shore saw Dave and mule disappear in the darkness and set up a cry of wonder.

"Hi! come back here, Dave!" sang out Roger.

"If you are going to ride to the Hall take us with you!" yelled Shadow.

"He won't stop till he's tired out," said Henshaw. "And goodness only knows where he'll carry Dave."

"Trust Dave to take care of himself," answered the senator's son. "I never saw him get into a hole but that he managed to get out again."

"I hope the mule doesn't land him in some crack in the ice," said Messmer.

On and on through the gathering darkness sped the mule, with Dave clinging to his back with a deathlike grip. The animal was young and full of go and seemed thoroughly to enjoy the run.

"Talk about mules being slow," panted the boy. "The chap who thinks that ought to be on this steed. Why, he'd win on a race-track sure!"

A half-mile was quickly covered, and then the mule neared the bank of the river, where the latter made a long curve. Here there was a fair-sized creek, and up this the animal dashed, in spite of Dave's efforts to stop him or get him to keep to the river proper.

"Whoa, you rascal!" sang out the youth for at least the fiftieth time, and then he caught sight of a white sail just ahead of him. The next moment the mule bumped into the edge of the sail, shied to one side, and sent Dave sprawling on the ice. Then the animal steadied himself and made tracks for the road which led to Mike Marcy's farm. Evidently he was tired of roaming around and of being ridden, and was now going home.



Somewhat dazed, Dave picked himself up and gazed at the ice-boat. It was the Snowbird, and on it were Nat Poole and Link Merwell.

"Hullo, if it isn't Dave Porter!" muttered Poole, in amazement.

"Where did he get that mule?" questioned Merwell.

"I'm sure I don't know. But this makes a mess of things. I didn't want that crowd to know we had taken the ice-boat," went on the dudish youth.

Dave picked up the cap which had fallen on the ice and ran up to the ice-boat. Those on board had run into the creek by mistake and were trying to turn the Snowbird around.

"What are you doing with that craft?" asked Dave.

"That's our business," retorted Nat Poole.

"I think it is my business. That boat belongs to Messmer and Henshaw."

"We found it, and we are going to have a sail back to Oak Hall," said Link Merwell.

"I don't think so," answered Dave, decidedly.

"What's that?" cried Merwell, sharply. He was a fellow used to having his own way.

"I want that boat. I was with Messmer and Henshaw, and we left the craft on the shore of an island. It's my opinion you two chaps ran off with her."

"See here, do you take me for a thief?" cried Link Merwell. And in his aggressive fashion he swaggered up to Dave.

"Not that, Merwell, but I think you took the ice-boat. I am going to take her back, so I can get our crowd aboard."

"And what do you expect me to do?" asked Nat Poole.

"You can skate back to the Hall."

"I lost one of my skates."

"Then let Merwell tow you on one foot."

"Oh, you needn't boss us around, Porter," growled Link Merwell. "I'm not used to it, and I won't stand for it. Poole and I are going to the Hall on the ice-boat, and that is all there is about it."

He drew himself up to his full height—he was four inches taller than Dave—and glared down defiantly. This gave Nat Poole a little courage, and he ranged beside Merwell, and both doubled up their fists.

They fancied they could make Dave back down, but they were mistaken. The lad who had been brought up on a farm faced them fearlessly.

"There is no use of fighting about it," he said, as calmly as he could. "You have no right to this ice-boat, and you know it. If you don't give it up perhaps I'll report you."

"Oh, you're a squealer, are you?" sneered Link Merwell. "It's about what I would expect from a boy brought up in a poorhouse."

At this uncalled-for and cutting remark Dave's face flamed. He took one step forward and caught the tall youth by the arm, in a grip that seemed to be of steel and made Merwell wince.

"Are you going to bring that up?" he asked, in a low voice. "I should have thought your friend Poole would have cautioned you that it wasn't healthy to do so."

"Let go of my arm, Porter," and Merwell tried to pull himself free, but in vain. Dave's eyes were blazing like two stars and seemed to look the tall youth through and through.

"I am not letting go just yet, Merwell. I want you to answer my question."

"If you don't let go I'll knock you down!" cried Link Merwell, in a rage.

"If you do, you'll get well punished for it. I allow nobody to talk to me as you have done."

"Want to fight?"

"No; but I can defend myself—I guess Nat Poole knows that."

"Don't soil your hands on him, Link," said Poole. Even though they were two to one, he knew Dave's power and was afraid of him.

"He can't come it over me," answered Merwell. "Let go!" and then he hauled off and tried to hit Dave in the face.

The boy from the country was on guard, and ducked with a quickness that surprised his antagonist. Then he gave Merwell's arm a twist that sent the tall youth sprawling on the ice.

The new pupil was amazed, and it took him several seconds to recover himself. He had not dreamed that Dave was so powerful, yet he threw prudence to the winds and rushed in, trying again to reach Dave's face with his fist. But Dave skipped to one side, put out his foot, and again Merwell went down, on his hands and knees.

"I'll fix you!" he roared, scrambling up, his face red with rage. "I'll show you what I can do! How do you like that, you poorhouse rat!"

This time he hit Dave in the breast. The blow was a heavy one, but it did not hurt nearly as much as did the words which accompanied it. They made Dave shiver as if with ague, and, all in a blaze he could not curb, he sprang towards Link Merwell. Out shot first one fist and then the other, the blows landing on the eye and chin of the tall youth. They made him stagger back against the ice-boat. Then came a third blow, and Merwell gave a gasp, swayed from side to side, and would have fallen had not Nat Poole caught him as he was going down.

"Stop, Porter; don't hit him again!"

"Merwell, do you take back what you just said?" demanded Dave, paying no attention to Nat Poole's remark.

There was an instant of silence. Link Merwell wanted to answer, but was too dazed to do so. Slowly and painfully he stood erect. His head was in a whirl and one eye was rather rapidly closing.

"Merwell, are you going to take back what you said?" demanded Dave, again. And he held his fist ready to strike another blow.

"Ye—yes," stuttered Link Merwell. "Do—don't hit me again!" And then he collapsed in a heap at Dave's feet.



CHAPTER XII

THE MEETING OF THE GEE EYES

When Link Merwell went down again Dave looked at Nat Poole, thinking that lad might possibly attack him. But the dudish fellow was too scared to do anything but back away to a safe distance.

"Don—don't you dare to hit me, Porter!" he cried, in a trembling voice. "Don't you dare! If you do I'll tell Doctor Clay!"

"If you behave yourself I'll not lay my fingers on you, Nat Poole," was the reply. "Merwell brought this on himself—you know that as well as I do."

"He's pretty badly hurt, I fear."

"Oh, he'll come around all right," answered Dave. "You had better see to it that he gets to the Hall safely."

"Are you going to leave me?"

"Yes, I want to find Henshaw and the others."

Nat Poole wanted to argue, but he did not dare. Dave waited until Link Merwell sat up and opened his eyes. Then he leaped on the ice-boat and flung off the three skates he found there.

"Going away?" mumbled Merwell, when he could speak.

"Yes, and after this, Link Merwell, see that you keep a civil tongue in your head," answered Dave, and then he trimmed the sail of the ice-boat, shoved the craft around, and started for the river.

Dave was a good deal "worked up," but he had not deemed it wise to let his enemies see it. To be called a "poorhouse rat" had stung him to the quick, and once again when touched on that subject he had found his temper as ungovernable as ever.

"It's no use, I can't stand it," he told himself. "If they want me to let them alone they have got to cut that out."

It was now so dark that but little could be seen on the broad river. Dave turned the craft towards Robber Island and made a long tack. He was just coming around on the other tack when there came a shout out of the darkness.

"Don't run us down! Why, it's Dave!"

"Right you are," was the reply. Then he saw Roger and the others, who had started to walk to Oak Hall. They were soon beside the Snowbird, and the craft was headed for the school.

"So Poole and Merwell had her," observed Messmer, on the way. "Did you have any trouble making them give her up?"

"Just a little," answered Dave, modestly.

"Tell us about it, Dave!" cried the senator's son. "Somebody told me Merwell was of the scrappy kind."

"I really don't like to talk about it," said Dave, his face clouding. "I had some words with Merwell and I knocked him down. Then he and Poole were willing enough to let me take the ice-boat."

"You knocked Merwell down!" exclaimed Henshaw. "He's a big fellow."

"Dave isn't afraid of anybody," said Roger, in a tone of pride.

In the end Dave was compelled to tell his story, to which the others listened with deep interest. They understood the boy from the country perfectly, and said the treatment received had served Link Merwell right.

When they reached Oak Hall they were nearly an hour late. They expected Job Haskers would lecture them and give them extra lessons to do, but fortunately they found Andrew Dale, the head teacher, in charge. He listened to their explanations with a smile.

"After this you mustn't go so far, or else start earlier," said the instructor, and let them go in to supper.

"Gracious! what a difference between Mr. Dale and old Haskers," was Dave's comment.

"I wish all the teachers were like Mr. Dale—and Doctor Clay," returned Roger.

The party were just finishing their evening meal when Nat Poole and Link Merwell slunk in. The tall youth had one eye nearly closed by the blow Dave had delivered. He glared savagely at Dave, but said nothing.

"He'll chew you up—if he gets the chance," whispered Roger to Dave.

"Then I won't give him the chance," answered the other, with a quiet smile.

The story soon circulated among the students that Merwell and Dave had had a fight and the tall boy had gotten the worse of it. To this Dave said nothing, but Merwell explained to his friends that Porter had hit him foul, taking him completely off his guard.

"The next time we meet you'll see him go down and out," added the tall boy. "He won't be in it a minute after I once get at him."

Word was sent to Mike Marcy about his mule, and the farmer sent an answer back that the mule was now at home again, safe and sound. The mean fellow did not add one word of thanks for the information given to him.

"That's like Marcy," said Dave. "If he thanked me for anything I think I'd drop dead."

"Some men hardly know how to be civil," answered Phil.

During the next few days word also came from Dodsworth Sadler that he was on the trail of Blodgett and Volney and hoped to catch them before many days. He added that he had evidence to convict the swindlers if he could only lay his hands on them.

"That lets you and me out," said Dave to Gus Plum. "I don't think you'll ever hear another word from the two rascals."

"If it hadn't been for you I should have paid them that money," said the former bully, gratefully. "And they would have kept me in their power if they could."

Dave was anxiously awaiting a letter from his uncle, and when it came he could scarcely take time to tear open the communication, so eager was he to know its contents. The letter was very brief and simply asked the boy to come home on the following Saturday, and added that if he really wanted to go to London he could do so. Dave was to show the letter to Doctor Clay, in order to get the necessary permission to leave the Hall.

"I shall be sorry to have you go, Master Porter," said the principal of the academy. "But I can understand how you feel about your father and sister, and it will perhaps be better for you to go in search of them than to sit down here and be on pins and needles over it;" and Doctor Clay smiled kindly.

"Then you are really going to London!" cried Phil, when he heard the news. "Wish I was going, too!"

"So do I, Phil," answered Dave. "We'd have as good a time as we did on your father's ship in the South Seas."

"I am going to write to my folks about this at once," said Roger. His heart was set on going to England with his chum.

As soon as Dave's friends heard that he was going away once more, several began to plan a celebration for him.

"Let us hold a special meeting of the Gee Eyes, for Dave's benefit," said Sam Day; and so it was voted.

The Gee Eyes, as my old readers know, was a secret organization that had existed at Oak Hall for a long time. The words stood for the two letters G and I, which in turn stood for the name of the club, Guess It. The club was organized largely for fun, and this fun consisted mainly in the initiation of new members.

At one time Gus Plum had been at the head of a rival organization called the Dare Do Anything Club, but this had been broken up by Doctor Clay because of the unduly severe initiation of a small boy, named Frank Bond, who had almost lost his reason thereby. Now Gus had applied for membership in the Gee Eyes and had said that he would stand for any initiation they offered.

"I have half a mind to take Plum up," said Phil Lawrence, who was the Honorable Muck-a-Muck, otherwise president, of the club. "He deserves to be put through a strong course of sprouts for what he did to Frank Bond."

"All right, I am willing for one," said Buster Beggs, who was the secretary, under the high-sounding title of Lord of the Penwiper. "But we will have to ask the others first."

A canvass was made and it was decided to initiate Gus Plum on Friday night, after which the club was to celebrate the departure of Dave in as fitting a style as the exchequer of the organization permitted. Plum was duly notified, and said he would be on hand as required. "And you can do anything short of killing me," he added, with a grin.

"It will make Plum feel better if he suffers," said Dave. "He hasn't got Frank Bond off his mind yet." Which statement was true. Plum and Bond had made up, and the former bully now did all in his power to aid the small, timid fellow in his studies and otherwise.

The club met in an old boathouse down the river. It was a bright moonlight night and about twenty members were present, all attired in their red robes and black hoods with yellow tassels. As before, some of the members had wooden swords and others stuffed clubs. Around the boathouse were hung a number of pumpkin lanterns, cut out in imitation of skulls.

For the initiation of Gus Plum one of the club members had composed a new chant, which was sung slowly and impressively as the former bully of Oak Hall was led in by Buster Beggs and Sam Day.

"Hoopra! hoopra! Dilly dall! Here's the victim, see him fall! Hoopra! hoopra! Dilly dees! Down upon his bended knees! Hoopra! hoopra! Dilly deet! Bind his hands and bind his feet! Hoopra! hoopra! Dilly dive! Let us cut him up alive!

"Punch him, crunch him, smash him up! Let him drink the poison cup! Let him groan and let him rave As we put him in his grave!"

As this strange doggerel was sung the masked students danced fantastically around Gus Plum, slapping him with their swords and clubs. Then of a sudden he was tripped up, bound hands and feet, and marched out of the boathouse. Here a bag was tied over his head, so that he could not see a thing, although the bag had holes in the rear, so that he would not be suffocated.

"To the river with him!" came the loud command. "An icy bath will do him a world of good."

Now if there was one thing Gus Plum hated, it was ice-cold water for bathing purposes, and the suggestion of such a bath, in the open air, with the thermometer below the freezing point, caused him to shiver.

"Now, see here——" he began, and then shut his lips tightly. Come what might he resolved to utter no complaint.

"What sayest thou?" demanded a voice by his side.

"Wouldst thou beg off?" demanded another.

"No, I'll take my medicine, no matter what it is," answered the former bully, doggedly.



CHAPTER XIII

AN INTERRUPTED INITIATION

"He's full of grit this time," whispered Phil to Dave.

"Oh, Plum isn't the boy he used to be, I am certain of that," was the low answer.

Before long the students reached a point on the river front where there was a heavy clump of bushes. In a hollow between the bushes a fire had been built, and on the bushes had been hung some horse blankets, to keep off the wind.

As the members of the Gee Eyes reached the hollow they saw two boys wrapped up in overcoats stealing away into the woods close by.

"Hello, who are those chaps?" cried Roger.

"One of them looked like Nat Poole to me," answered Dave.

"Wonder what they are doing here?"

"Came to see what was going on, I suppose."

"I don't like fellows like Nat Poole to be hanging around," remarked Buster Beggs.

The fire had been burning low, but now it was stirred up and more dry branches were piled on top, creating a roaring blaze. By the flickering glare the masked figures looked decidedly fantastic.

Up to that moment the club members had been undecided what to do with Gus Plum. Some were in favor of taking off his shoes and socks and letting him down into the river through a hole in the ice, wetting him up to his knees. Others wanted him to crawl on his hands and knees to another spot on the river, quarter of a mile away. Still others wanted to make a snow house and shut him inside for awhile, letting him breathe through a piece of gaspipe which had been brought along. Others wanted him to make a ten minutes' speech on "What Mackerels Have Done for Astronomy," or some subject equally "deep."

"Let us have the speech, at least first," suggested Dave.

"All right, give us the subject," answered Phil, after a consultation with the other officers.

"All right, I will," answered Dave, after a moment's thought. "Better take the bag off his head first."

This was quickly removed, and Gus Plum was made to stand up on a rock close to the fire.

"Wretch, listen!" came from one of the masked figures. "It is decreed that thou must speak for ten minutes by the second-splitting watch on a subject that shall be given to thee. Shouldst thou fail, it will be a whacking with staves for thine. Dost thou agree?"

"Speak on what?"

"Here is the subject," said Dave, in a disguised voice that was thin and piping: "If a Pail Lets Out Water When it Leaks, Why Doesn't a Boat Do the Same Thing?" And a snicker went round at this question.

"Thou hast heard the subject. Art prepared to discourse?" asked one of the Gee Eyes.

"Sure thing," answered Gus Plum, after a moment of thought. He struck an attitude. "My subject is a most profound one, first broached by Cicero to Henry Clay, during the first trip of the beloved pair to Coney Island."

"Hurrah! Hooroo!" came from one of the club members.

"Cicero had been speaking to just such a crowd of convicts as I am now addressing—thieves, murderers, and those who had failed to shovel the snow from their sidewalks during the months of July and August," continued Gus Plum.

"Convicts is good," murmured Roger.

"The boat running to Coney Island had slowed up to a walk, which caused Cicero to grow impatient, as he wanted a ride on the shoot-the-chutes. Henry Clay, along with Napoleon and a Roman sausage-maker named Hannibal, were in the bow of the craft trying to solve the fifteen puzzle by the aid of a compass and a book on etiquette. Suddenly a great commotion arose to a height of a mile or more. The boat sank to the bottom of the sea, turned over three times, and came to the surface again. A shriek arose from one of the ladies, Cleopatra's waiting-maid: 'I have lost my knitting overboard.' 'Man the pumps!' cried Cicero, and then tied his sandals around his neck for a life-preserver. Henry Clay drew a Henry Clay from his pocket and began to smoke vigorously. Hannibal said he would turn cannibal if the boat went down again. Cleopatra said she would die happy if only they would start up the phonograph, and Homer did so, with that beautiful ode entitled, 'Why Eat Turkey When Corned Beef Is So Cheap?'"

"Where's the pail that leaked?" came from the crowd.

"Stick to the subject."

"Is the boat leaking yet?"

"Be not afraid," answered Gus Plum, solemnly. "By the chronometer I have still seven minutes before the boat and pail sink out of sight forever. However, the pail was there, sitting, like a hen, on the larboard mast, filled with gooseberries, which Pocahontas had picked at dawn, in company with General Grant and King Henry the Sixty-second. Looking at this pail, John Paul Jones slapped his sailor thigh and asked, 'Why is a gooseberry?' a question which has come resounding down the ages—— Oh, thunder! Do you want to blow me to pieces!"

Crack! bang! crack! boom! came four loud reports, and the fire was scattered in all directions. Bang! came another report, and Dave received some burning fagots in the face. Gus Plum was hurled from the rock upon which he had been standing. Boom! came a report louder than any of the rest, and what was left of the camp-fire flew up in the air as if a volcano were under it.



All of the club members were dumbfounded, for nobody had expected anything of this sort. Half a dozen of the boys had gone down and in a twinkling the robes Roger and Ben wore were in flames. The fire lay in all directions, and now came two smaller reports and Dave saw a fair-sized fire-cracker fly apart.

"Somebody put fire-crackers under the fire," he cried. "Big ones and little ones." And then, seeing Ben in flames, he rushed to the assistance of his chum.

It was no easy matter to put out the fire, and before Ben was out of danger Dave got a blister on one hand. In the meantime Gus Plum had leaped towards Roger.

"Roll over!" he cried, and tripped the senator's son up. Then he began to beat the flames out with his hands and with the bag that had been over his head. Roger had gotten some hot ashes in his face, and he was confused and half blinded thereby.

The excitement lasted nearly five minutes, and when it was over the boys stood there with their hoods and robes off, gazing at each other nervously.

"Who did this?" demanded Phil.

"That was too much of a good thing," said Shadow. "Why, some of us might have been burned to death."

"Kind of rough initiation," remarked Gus Plum, dryly. "But I didn't catch it as much as Roger and Ben."

"That wasn't down on the programme," returned Dave. "At least, it wasn't so far as I am concerned."

"I didn't know of it!" cried Buster Beggs.

"Nor I!" "Nor I!" came from one after another of the other members of the Gee Eyes.

"Who started the fire?" asked Phil.

"I did," answered Sam Day. "I just got some wood together and lit it, that's all."

"Was there anything on the ground?"

"Not a thing, so far as I noticed."

"Here is part of a big cannon cracker," said Dave, holding up the still burning paper. "That was big enough to blow off a fellow's hand or foot."

"Say, don't you remember those fellows we saw running away!" exclaimed Roger.

"To be sure!" was the quick answer. "Nat Poole was one."

"Who was the other?"

"He looked like Link Merwell to me," said Buster Beggs.

"Then we've got an account to settle with Poole and Merwell," said Roger. "Just look at how my hands and my neck are blistered!"

"And my hand," said Ben. "Oh, how it smarts! I'll have to put some oil and flour on it."

"Let us declare Plum's initiation finished," said Phil. "Then we can hunt up those fellows who played this dirty trick on us."

Phil's suggestion was at once adopted, and the club members scattered through the woods, to look for those who had hidden themselves. In a very few minutes Sam Day set up a shout:

"Here is one of them!"

"And here is the other!" called out Gus Plum and Ben, simultaneously.

"You let go of me, Sam Day!" came in the voice of Nat Poole. "I didn't do anything! Let me go!"

"You come along with me, Nat Poole," answered Sam, sternly. "Just look how that hand is burnt!" And in his anger Sam gave the other boy a smart box on the ear.

"Oh! Don't, please don't."

"You'll yell worse than that when we are through with you," answered Sam.

"You bet he will," said Buster Beggs. "I got a hot cinder in my right eye."

"Don't, please don't!" shrieked Nat Poole. He was a coward at heart, and the attitude of those around filled him with sudden terror. "I didn't do it, I tell you."

"Then who did?" demanded Dave.

"Oh, I—I can't tell you. I—I——"

"Yes, you can tell," said Shadow, and gave Poole's ear a twist. The story-teller of the school had gotten some hot ashes in his mouth, which had put him in anything but a gentle humor.

"It was Link Merwell. He put the crackers under the fire and let the fuses stick up," said Poole.

"You're a fine sort to blab!" sneered Merwell. "Since you're willing to tell so much, I'll tell something too. He bought the fire-crackers."

"Is that true, Poole?" questioned Roger.

"Ye—yes, but I—I didn't know——"

"He knew what I was going to do with them," broke in Link Merwell. "It was only a joke."

"So is that a joke, Merwell," answered Roger, and hauling off he boxed the tall youth's right ear. "If you want to make anything out of it, do so. Look at my hands and neck. You went too far."

Merwell's face blazed and he looked as if he wished to annihilate the senator's son.

"Humph! I suppose you think you can do as you please, with your own crowd around you," he muttered. "You don't know how to take a joke."

"I can take a joke as well as anybody, but not such a perilous trick as that."

"It's on a par with the joke of the fellow who put gunpowder in a poor Irishman's pipe," broke in Shadow. "It put the Irishman's eyes out. I don't see any fun in that."

"I think we ought to give them both a good licking!" cried a boy named Jason, and without more ado he took his wooden sword and gave Poole a whack across the back. Then he turned and whacked Merwell.

It was a signal for a general use of the wooden swords and stuffed clubs, and in a moment the two unlucky students were surrounded, and blows fell thick and fast. Poole yelled like a wild Indian, but Merwell set his teeth and said nothing, only striking back with his fists when he got the chance. Dave took no part in the onslaught, nor did Ben and Phil. As soon as he saw a chance Nat Poole ran for his life. Link Merwell stood his ground a little longer, then he too retreated, shaking his fist at the members of the Gee Eyes.

"Just wait!" he fairly hissed. "I'll get square for this, if it takes me a lifetime!"



CHAPTER XIV

GOOD-BYE TO OAK HALL

"I'll wager Merwell is the maddest boy Oak Hall ever saw!" said Shadow, when the excitement had subsided.

"Poole is a sneak, and no mistake," said Sam. "I wonder if he'll go and tell old Haskers or Doctor Clay?"

"He won't dare—for he is afraid we will tell about the fire-crackers," answered Dave. "Yes, he is a sneak."

"I don't see, now, how I could ever make a friend of him," declared Gus Plum. "Now, in one way, I like Merwell—he's a fighter and he doesn't care who knows it."

"Yes, but he's got a wicked temper," observed Roger. "He reminds me of Nick Jasniff. They would make a team."

"Where did he come from, anyway?" questioned Messmer.

"From some ranch out West. His father is a big cattle-owner. He is used to life in the open air, and one of the fellows says he can ride like the wind."

"We must watch him," declared Phil.

"I can't do that—since I am going away," answered Dave. "I'll have to leave you chaps to fight it out."

"Do you think they'll come back or send Haskers?" asked Buster Beggs.

"It might be wise to leave this spot," answered Phil. "There are plenty of places we can go to."

It was decided to move, and several baskets which had been stored away in the bushes were brought forth.

"I've got an idea!" cried Henshaw. "Let us go to that old barn on the Baggot place. Nobody will disturb us there."

"I want to fix up my burns first," said Roger.

"So do I," said Ben. "Come on to the Hall—we can join the crowd later."

So it was arranged, and while the senator's son and Ben went off in one direction the remaining members of the Gee Eyes took another, which led them over a small hill and through an old apple orchard.

The Baggot place had not been used for several years. The house was nailed up, but the big barn stood wide open and had often been the resort of tramps. But during the hunt for the robber, Pud Frodel, and his tool, all the tramps had been rounded up and driven away.

Several of the students had brought their pumpkin lanterns with them, and these were hung up on convenient nails.

"Say, a small stove wouldn't go bad," suggested Messmer. "It's mighty cold in here."

"Let us settle down in some hay," suggested Phil. "That will keep us warm, especially if we shut the doors and windows tight."

The baskets which had been brought along were filled with good things, and these were speedily passed around. The boys fell to eating with avidity, for the adventures of the evening had made them hungry. Then Dave was called upon for a speech.

"I hardly know what to say, fellow-students," he began, after a cheering and hand-clapping. "You have treated me royally to-night, and I do not intend to forget your kindness. I am sorry that I am going to leave you, but you all know what is taking me away——"

"We do, and we hope you'll find your folks," put in Phil.

"So say we all of us!" sang out Henshaw.

"If I am successful in my search perhaps I'll return to Oak Hall before a great while," continued Dave. "In the meantime I trust you all have good times, and that you may have no more trouble with our enemies. More than this, as I expect to be away during the holidays, I wish each one a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!"

As Dave concluded there was a round of applause, and the club members drank his health in lemon soda and sarsaparilla. Then some nuts and raisins were passed around, and all prepared to return to Oak Hall.

"We've got to go in quietly, or else there may be trouble," said Phil. "Remember, we don't know what Merwell and Poole will do."

There was no trouble, however, for which Dave was thankful, since he wished to leave the Hall with a clean record. As soon as he reached his dormitory he went to bed, and so did the other occupants of the apartment. And thus his schooldays, for the time being, came to an end.

He was up bright and early and by nine o'clock was ready to enter the sleigh that was to take him to Oakdale station. The boys gathered around to see him off.

"I wish I was going with you," said Phil. "You must write me regularly."

"I'll do that, Phil. And you must tell me all about what happens here."

"Remember, Dave, I'll join you if I possibly can," said Roger. "Let me know where I can telegraph or telephone you."

"Sure, Roger, and if you can join me I'll like it first-rate."

An hour later Dave was on the train and speeding towards Crumville. He had sent word ahead when he would arrive, and at the station he found the Wadsworth sleigh, with Caspar Potts and Jessie Wadsworth awaiting him. The old professor looked hale and hearty, although his form was slightly bent and his hair was gray and white. Jessie, round-cheeked and rosy, was the picture of health and beauty.

"There he is! There's Dave!" cried the miss, and leaped to the sidewalk to shake hands.

"Why, how tall you are getting, Jessie," said the boy, and then blushed, for the handshake she gave him was a very cordial one. "How do you do, Professor?" And he shook hands with the man who had done so much for him in his younger years.

"I am very well indeed, Dave," answered Professor Potts. "Will you sit up here by me, or with Miss Jessie?"

"Dave must come in with me," said Jessie, promptly.

"Did my Uncle Dunston come?" questioned the boy, looking around, for he had fully expected to see his relative.

"No, he has a touch of rheumatism in his left knee," answered Caspar Potts.

"That's too bad."

Dave assisted Jessie to a seat and then got in beside her, and tucked in the handsome fur robe. Off went the team at a spanking gait, past the stores of the town and then in the direction of the Wadsworth mansion. Many looked at Dave as he rode by and thought him a lucky boy—and he certainly was lucky, and thankful for it.

The mansion reached, Dave was warmly greeted by Mrs. Wadsworth, and, later on, by Mr. Wadsworth, who had been to his large jewelry works on business. The lad found his Uncle Dunston in his room, in an easy-chair, with his rheumatic leg resting on a low stool.

"It's not so very bad, Dave," said Dunston Porter, after their greeting was over. "I hope to be around again before long. But it is too bad it should come on at this time, when I had hoped to go to London with you."

Dave sat down, and a conversation lasting the best part of an hour ensued. The boy told all he knew about Nick Jasniff, and showed the letter which Gus Plum had received. Dunston Porter said he had sent several cablegrams to London, but so far had heard nothing of satisfaction.

"I even sent a money order to this Nick Jasniff, thinking he might try to get it cashed, but the order has not been called for. The money was cabled to London and then put in a letter for the General Delivery department. Evidently this Jasniff is keeping shady, or otherwise he has left the city or is living under an assumed name."

"I know pretty much the sort of a chap he is," said Dave. "He likes to go to the theater, and he was a great chap to bowl. If I go over there I am going to hunt up the bowling places, if there are any, and take a look in at the different theaters. If he is in London I ought to run across him some day. And I'll try finding him by letter and by a notice in the newspapers, too."

Dave was a very busy boy for the next few days, perfecting his plans to visit England. Yet he managed to spend several happy hours with the others and especially with Jessie, who now acted more like a young lady than a girl. Truth to tell, Dave thought a great deal of the rich manufacturer's daughter, and Jessie seemed always to want him around, that they might sing together, or play games, or go out for a sleigh-ride.

"You mustn't forget us when you are in London," said Jessie. "I want you to send me some postal cards—the picture kind."

"I'll send you one every day," replied Dave. "The very nicest I can find."

"With pictures of the places you visit?"

"Yes."

"Then you must tell me about the places in your letters."

"Do you want me to write?"

"Of course, and I'll write too," said Jessie, and gave him one of her sunniest smile. Dave thought of that smile long afterwards—when he was in London and in the far northland—and it always brightened him in spirits.

On the day before his departure Dave received a telegram from Roger. It was short and characteristic:

"Hurrah! Engage stateroom for two. What steamer?"

"Good for Roger!" cried Dave, as he showed the message to his uncle. "He has permission to go with me. Now I won't be lonely."

"I am glad to know he is going along," said Dunston Porter. "Not but that I know you can take care of yourself, Dave."

Dave at once sent word to New York, to the steamship office, and by night the matter of a stateroom for two was arranged. Then he sent word to Roger where his chum could meet him.

He spent a quiet evening at the Wadsworth mansion. Jessie and the others did what they could to cheer him, but they realized what was on his mind.

"Oh, Dave, I do so hope you will find your father and your sister!" said Jessie, on bidding him good-night. "I want to know Laura; I know I shall love her—for your sake!" And then she ran off. Dave watched her mount the stairs and disappear in her room, and then he retired to his own apartment, more thoughtful than ever, yet with a warm feeling in his heart that was peculiar to itself, for it only came when he saw Jessie or was thinking of her.



CHAPTER XV

DAVE AND ROGER IN LONDON

"Off at last!"

"Yes, Roger, and I am not sorry for it."

"And just to think, Dave, inside of a week we'll be in England! It doesn't seem possible."

The two boys were standing on the deck of the great steamer, watching the last sight of New York City as it faded from view. Mr. Wadsworth and Caspar Potts had come down to see them off, and all had had a fine meal together at the old Astor House.

It was a clear, cold day, and the boys were glad enough to button their overcoats as they remained on deck watching the last bit of land disappear from view. Then they swept by the Sandy Hook lightship and out into the broad Atlantic, rolling majestically in the bright sunlight.

By good luck Dave had managed to obtain a first-class stateroom, and the chums felt very comfortable when they settled down in the apartment. But they did not know a soul on board, and it was not until the second day out that they made a few acquaintances.

"I think we are going to have a fine trip over," said the senator's son, on the evening of the second day. "Don't you think so, Dave?"

"I'll tell you better when we reach the other side," answered the boy from the country, with a laugh. "I don't know much about the Atlantic. When we were traveling on the Pacific I know the weather changed very quickly sometimes."

That very night came a heavy blow and by morning the seas were running high. The air was piercing cold, and everybody was glad enough to remain in the cabins. Dave, returning from the ship's library with a volume on travels in England, found Roger had gone to their stateroom.

"Seasick, I'll wager a new hat," he said to himself, and hurried to the apartment. Sure enough, the senator's son was on his berth and as pale as death.

"Can I do anything?" asked Dave, kindly.

"Nothing," groaned Roger. "Only make the boat stop for a minute—just one minute, Dave!"

"I would if I could, Roger. But maybe you'll get over it soon," he added, sympathetically.

"Perhaps—after my insides have had their merry-go-round ride," was the mournful reply.

Fortunately the heavy blow did not last long, and by the morning of the fourth day the Atlantic was comparatively calm. Dave had not been seasick in the least, and he was glad to see his chum come around once more. Roger greeted him with a faint smile.

"I was going to fight against it," said the senator's son. "But when it caught me I had to give in first clip. O dear! I don't see what seasickness was invented for!" And he said this so seriously that Dave was forced to laugh outright.

As soon as it had been decided that he was to go to London, Dave had begun to study up about the place, so that he might not be "too green" when he arrived there. He had two guide-books, and on the steamship he met several people who were only too willing to give him all the information at their command.

"London isn't New York, my boy," said one old gentleman to whom he spoke. "It's larger and it's different. But if you're used to big cities you'll soon find yourself at home there."

Soon the two boys were watching for a sight of land, and when it came they learned that they were in the English Channel and nearing the Isle of Wight. Here there was plenty of shipping, from all parts of the world, and they passed several other big liners, bound for Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and Southern ports.

"This is certainly the age of travel," was Dave's comment, as they watched the boats pass. "Everybody seems to be going somewhere."

By the time they reached Southampton there was great bustle on board. Custom House regulations had to be met, after which Dave and Roger took their first ride in an English railway coach and soon reached the greatest city of the world. They had brought with them only their largest dress-suit cases, and these they carried.

They had already decided to go to a small but comfortable hotel called the Todham. A cabman was handy, who had their dress-suit cases almost before they knew it.

"What's the fare to the hotel?" demanded Dave.

The Jehu said several shillings, but when Dave shook his head the fellow cut the price in half and they sprang in and were off. The brief ride was an interesting one, and they could not help but contrast the sights to be seen with those of New York and Chicago.

"It's certainly different," said Roger. "But I guess we can make ourselves at home."

The hotel was in the vicinity of Charing Cross, and the two boys obtained an elegant apartment looking down on the busy street. They were glad to rest over Sunday, only going out in the morning to attend services at one of the great churches.

"Well, Dave, now you are here, how are you going to start to look for Nick Jasniff?" questioned Roger. "It seems to me that it will be a good deal like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"I am going to advertise and then try all the leading hotels," was the answer. "I have a list of them here. If you want to help, you can visit one group of them while I visit another."

The senator's son was willing, and they started off without delay. During the day Dave rode around to exactly twenty-two places, but at each hostelry was met with the reply that no such person as Nicholas Jasniff had registered there.

"One day wasted," he sighed, but altered his opinion when he rejoined his chum.

"Jasniff was at the Hotel Silverin," said Roger. "But he left there a little over two weeks ago."

"Did he leave any directions for forwarding mail?"

"Yes, here is the address." The senator's son drew a notebook from his pocket. "43, Pulford Road, Noxham."

"Let us look up the place," went on Dave, eagerly, and got out his map of London and its suburbs. It was in the northern end of the metropolis, and they found a railway running in that direction.

"We can't go to-night very well, but we can try it the first thing in the morning," said Dave; and so it was decided.

On arriving in the vicinity of 43, Pulford Road, the two youths found the neighborhood anything but first-class. The houses were old and dirty-looking and had about them a general air of neglect.

"What do you want?" demanded the tall and angular woman who answered their summons at the door.

"Good-morning, madam," said Dave, politely. "I am looking for a young gentleman named Nicholas Jasniff. I believe he boards here."

"Oh, so that's it," said the woman. She eyed Dave and Roger in a suspicious manner. "Who told you he was boarding here?"

"We heard so down at our hotel."

"He isn't here—he went away last week—owing me one pound six," was the spiteful answer. "I wish I had my hands on him. It's Kate Clever would teach him a lesson, the scamp!"

"So he ran away owing you some board money?" said Roger.

"He did that."

"And you haven't any idea where he is?"

"I have and I haven't. Are you friends of his?"

"Not exactly, but we wish very much to find him."

"I am not the one to do him a favor—after him treating me so shabbily," said the woman, spitefully.

"You'll not be doing him a favor," returned Dave. "To tell you the truth, I want to catch him for some other wrong he's been doing."

"Oh, that's it, is it?" The woman became more interested. "You are from the States, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"He was from the States. He pretended that he wasn't, but I knew differently. He got letters from America—I saw one of them."

"And where did he go, if you please?" asked Dave.

The tall woman drew up her angular shoulders and pursed up her thin lips.

"If you'll pay that board money I'll help you to find him."

"Very well, if we find him I'll pay you the one pound and six shillings," answered Dave. He did not wish to waste time that might be valuable.

"Come in the parlor and I'll tell you what I know," said Kate Clever.

They entered the little musty and dusty parlor, with its old haircloth furniture and its cheap bric-a-brac. The woman dusted two of the chairs with her apron and told them to be seated.

"I am a poor widow," she explained. "I have to make my living by taking boarders. This Jasniff paid me only one week's board. He said he expected to get some money, but while I was waiting he took his bag and box and slipped away one day when I was to market."

"I thought he had plenty of money," said Roger. "He ran away with enough."

"Ran away with enough? Was he a thief?"

"Yes."

"O dear! Then I am glad he is out of my house. Really! we might all have been murdered in our beds!" And the woman held up her thin hands in horror.

After that she told what she could of Nick Jasniff. She said he had spent a good part of his time, both day and night, down in the heart of London, visiting the theaters and other places of amusement. Once he had complained of being robbed of his pocketbook on a tram-car, and again he had lost himself in Cheapside and fallen in with some thugs who had tried to carry him into an alleyway. In the fight that followed he had had an eye blackened and the sleeve torn from his coat. She had sewed on the sleeve again, but he had paid her nothing for the work.

"He spoke once of visiting an old friend named Chesterfield, who lived in Siddingate," said the woman. "He said he might meet his father there. Maybe if you can find this Chesterfield you'll find him."

"We can try, anyway," answered Dave. "Is that all you can tell about him?"

"I don't know of much else, Mr.—— I haven't learned your name yet."

"My name is David Porter. This is my friend Roger Morr."

"Porter? Why, I've heard that name somewhere." The woman mused for a moment. "Why, yes, Nicholas Jasniff had a friend by that name—a gentleman much older than you."

"A friend!" gasped Dave. "Oh, that can't be true, Mrs. Clever!"

"Well, I heard him say something about a man named Porter. They had met somewhere—I think in London. The man had a daughter named Laura, and I think this Jasniff had been calling upon her."



CHAPTER XVI

SOME IMPORTANT INFORMATION

Dave felt like groaning when he heard Mrs. Clever's words. Then what Jasniff had written in the letter to Gus Plum was true—he had met Mr. Porter and Laura. Had he tried to set himself up as a friend? It was more than likely.

"And father and Laura don't know what a rascal he is," Dave murmured to his chum. "Oh, I feel as if I could wring his neck! For all I know, he has been making himself agreeable to my sister. Isn't it enough to make one's blood boil?"

"It certainly is, Dave. But I fancy your sister will soon be able to size up such a fellow as Jasniff."

"Perhaps, although he can be very oily when he wants to be. Oh, if only I knew where my folks were!" sighed the boy from the country.

Mrs. Clever could tell nothing more about Nick Jasniff or about the Porters. But she promised to send Dave word if she heard anything, and seeing that she was poor Dave paid her the money out of which Jasniff had swindled her, about six dollars and a half. Then the two youths took their departure, stating they might call again.

"Let me know beforehand," said Mrs. Clever, "and I'll treat you handsome-like." She offered them some cakes and ale, but they politely declined the refreshments.

From the woman they learned the easiest way to reach Siddingate, and arrived at that London suburb shortly after the dinner-hour. Here they procured a hearty meal at the leading hotel and from a directory learned that six Chesterfields lived in that vicinity—one an ironmonger, otherwise a hardware dealer; another a draper, that is, a dry-goods merchant; and a third a stoker, which meant that he was a locomotive fireman. The other three were not put down as in business.

"I don't think we'll try to hunt up the stoker," said Dave. "Most likely he's off on a run. We can try the storekeepers and then the others."

The ironmonger, a burly, red-faced man, had never heard of Jasniff, but the draper, while he did not know anybody of that name, said that one of the other Chesterfields, whose first name was Philip, had some relatives in the United States, including some folks who were now traveling either in England or Scotland.

"Thank you; we'll hunt him up," said Dave. "Where does he live?"

"Any cabman can tell you," was the answer. "Better ride out—it's a cold walk."

It was cold, with the snow covering the ground to the depth of two inches or more. The air was very raw, and a regular London fog was settling down over the land.

A cabman was readily found, and inside of a few minutes they were on their way to the Philip Chesterfield estate. From the driver they learned that this Chesterfield was an old man, rather peculiar in his ways, and that he entertained visitors but seldom.

"It would be queer for Nick Jasniff to visit such a man," remarked Dave. "But I don't want to let any chance of locating him slip by."

"Nick may be glad enough to get a roof over his head, if his money is gone," answered Roger.

The cab presently turned up a side road and approached the stone wall of a fair-sized estate, the mansion of which stood back in a patch of old trees. As they entered the gateway Dave saw a door open and a boy came out on a veranda.

"There he is!" he gasped. "There is Nick now!"

"You're right!" exclaimed the senator's son. "This is luck, and no mistake."

As the cab came closer Nick Jasniff gazed at it curiously, to see whom it might contain. Not to be recognized too quickly, Dave kept his face averted and cautioned his chum to do the same.

"Say! I say——" began the youth who had run away, when Dave leaped out and confronted him. "Whe—where did you come from?"

"From Oak Hall," answered Dave, coolly. "I fancy you didn't expect to see me so soon, Jasniff."

"Humph!" The runaway boy did not know what to say. "I—er—— Been following me up, I suppose?"

"I have."

"You didn't expect me, did you?" put in Roger, with a grin.

"I didn't," growled Nick Jasniff. "Any more?" and he gazed anxiously into the cab, half expecting an officer of the law to put in an appearance.

"No more just now," said Dave, with peculiar emphasis.

"What do you want?" Jasniff was gradually regaining his self-possession.

"I want a whole lot of things," answered Dave. "Do you want to do your talking here or in the house?" And he glanced at the cab driver, who was staring at the boys with his mouth open in curiosity.

"You can come in, if you wish," was the awkward answer; and Nick Jasniff led the way into the old mansion, which was semi-dark and not more than half warmed. "Do you know who lives here?" he continued.

"Your relative, Philip Chesterfield," answered Roger.

"Humph! He's a great-uncle of mine and very old. He is down with gout. Come into the library. We needn't disturb him."

They filed into the apartment mentioned, a long, low room, the walls of which were lined with shelves filled with musty volumes. Dave kept his eyes on Jasniff, and this the runaway noticed.

"Think I'm going to skip?" he queried, sourly.

"I'll not give you the chance," was the ready answer.

"You think you've got me foul, don't you?"

"Doesn't it look like it?"

"You can't make me go back to the United States."

"Perhaps I can."

"My folks have settled up that Pud Frodel affair for me—did it only a few days ago."

"But they didn't settle up with Mrs. Clever. She was swindled out of some board money."

"I—er—I was going to send her that money to-day."

"Then you had better pay me, for I settled the account," answered Dave. "But let us drop this talk for the present, Jasniff. I want you to tell me all you know about my father and my sister."

"Humph! I haven't got to tell you anything if I don't want to."

"Yes, you have got to!" cried Dave. A dangerous gleam came into his eyes. "Out with it at once. Where is my father?"

"See here, Porter, I don't propose to be bullied. I——"

"You answer my question, Nick Jasniff. If you don't I'll call in an officer at once and have you placed under arrest."

"You can't do it."

"I can and will. If I can't have you held on one charge I'll have you held on another. I want the truth from you, and I want it right away."

Dave had followed Nick Jasniff to a window, and faced the runaway with such sternness and determination that the latter cowed before him.

"I—er—that is, your father went north, last week."

"Where to?"

"He said he was going to Christiania, Norway."

"Christiania, Norway?" repeated Dave. He knew there was such a place, but that was all. "What for?"

"Oh, he was interested in an expedition that was going to the upper interior—some kind of a scientific expedition, I think. He was full of it—said they hoped to make all kinds of discoveries."

"Whose expedition was it?"

"It was gotten up by two men named Lapham and Hausermann."

"I read about that expedition!" cried Roger. "There was an account of it in this morning's Times."

"When was it to start?" asked Dave, anxiously.

"I don't know."

"Do you know, Jasniff?"

"Not exactly—some time this week, I think."

"Was my sister Laura going with my father?" went on Dave, anxiously.

"No."

"Where is she?"

"I give it up."

"Jasniff, tell me the truth!" And again Dave looked at the runaway sternly.

"I don't know where she is."

"You met her."

"Certainly—half a dozen times."

"How did you get acquainted with my folks?"

"Oh, I met them by accident, and as soon as I learned who they were I introduced myself and said I knew your uncle Dunston Porter."

"What did you say about me?" and now Dave was more anxious than ever.

"I—er—I——"

"Come, out with it, and tell the exact truth, Jasniff, or it will be the worse for you."

"I—er—I didn't mention you," stammered the runaway. He could scarcely bring himself to speak the words.

"You didn't!"

"What! do you mean to say you met Mr. Porter and his daughter and didn't let them know that Dave was alive and that he was looking for them?" demanded Roger.

"It wasn't my business to tell them," answered Jasniff, doggedly.

"Nick Jasniff, you are the meanest fellow I ever met in my whole life!" burst out the senator's son. "For two pins I'd give you the worst thrashing you ever received. Didn't you know how happy it would make Mr. Porter and his daughter to know that Dave was alive?"

"I—er—that wasn't my business. Dave was no friend of mine—why should I put myself out to do him a good turn? If he wants to find his father and his sister let him do it."

"Did you become well acquainted with my sister?" asked Dave, after a pause.

"Fairly well, yes."

"Did you take her out anywhere?"

"No—er—she wouldn't go with me."

"I am glad to hear it. You say you have no idea where she is now?"

"Not exactly. There was an American family named Endicott over here. They came from somewhere out West. They had a daughter about Laura's age, and the two were chums. I think your sister sailed with the Endicotts for the States."

"Did they write to my uncle?"

"I don't know, but I think not, for they thought your uncle was still knocking around the South Sea Islands."

"And you wouldn't tell them a word!" cried Dave, bitterly. "Jasniff, I never supposed any fellow could be so cruel and hard-hearted."

"Humph! I haven't forgotten what I had to suffer," muttered the runaway.

"You brought all that on yourself. You had no business to go in with those two thieves. If you had remained honest there would have been no call for you to run away."

"Oh, don't preach, Dave Porter."

"What Dave says is true, Jasniff," said Roger. "If you have suffered, it is all through your own dishonesty."

"Who says a relative of mine is dishonest!" came a loud, harsh voice from the doorway of the library, and turning quickly Dave and Roger found themselves confronted by an old man, white with sudden rage, and brandishing a heavy cane in his hand.



CHAPTER XVII

ON THE NORTH SEA

Both Dave and his chum were startled by the sudden interruption, and for the moment did not know what to say. They looked at the old man and then at Nick Jasniff. The latter turned pale and seemed thoroughly ill at ease.

"Who says a relative of mine is dishonest?" repeated the old man, and now he strode up to Dave and raised the cane over the youth's head.

"If you refer to this boy as your relative, I say he is dishonest," answered Dave, stoutly.

"And so do I," added the senator's son.

"Nicholas dishonest! It cannot be! There must be some mistake."

"I am sorry for you, sir, but there is no mistake," returned Dave.

"Who are you, sir?"

"My name is David Porter. I come from the United States. Nicholas and myself and my friend here all attended the same boarding school."

"The place called Oak Hall?"

"Yes, sir. I presume you are Mr. Philip Chesterfield."

"I am, and I am a great-uncle to Nicholas." The old man lowered his cane. "What do you know of Nicholas?" he questioned, curiously.

"I know a great deal, Mr. Chesterfield. If you care to hear the story I will tell it to you."

"Don't you listen to him, Uncle Phil," stormed Nick Jasniff, in increasing fear. "He'll tell you nothing but a bundle of lies."

"I can prove every statement I make," answered Dave.

"Dave will tell you nothing but the truth," added Roger.

"Who are you, young man?"

"My name is Roger Morr."

"He is the son of United States Senator Morr," added Dave.

"Ah, indeed!" The fact that Roger's father occupied a high political position seemed to have considerable effect on Philip Chesterfield.

"They are a couple of fakirs!" cried Nick Jasniff. He knew not what else to say.

"Nicholas, be silent. I will listen to their story, and then you can have your say."

"If you are going to listen to them, I'll get out," stormed the runaway, and edged for the door.

"No, you don't; you'll stay here!" exclaimed Dave, and blocked the way. "I came all the way from America to catch you, and you are not going until I get through with you."

A brief war of words followed, which came to an end when the old gentleman locked the door. Then he had Dave and Roger tell their tale in full, after which he asked a number of questions. Nick Jasniff wanted to break into the conversation a number of times, but was not permitted to do so.

"Nicholas, if this is true, you are a young scoundrel, and I do not want you in my house another day!" exclaimed Philip Chesterfield. "I shall send a telegram to your father at once, asking him to come on."

"Where is Mr. Jasniff?" asked Dave.

"In Italy—he went there for his wife's health."

"Did Nicholas tell you anything about my folks?" went on Dave.

"Nothing excepting that he had met a Mr. Porter and his daughter, and that the father had sailed for Norway and the daughter for the States."

"Then that news must be true," said Roger. "Dave, the best thing you can do is to go to Christiania at once."

"Exactly my way of thinking, Roger."

"And about Nick——?"

"You shan't do anything to me!" roared the runaway. "I won't stand for it."

"I shall notify the authorities in America where you are," answered Dave. "Then they can do as they please in the affair."

A little later Dave and Roger left the mansion, Philip Chesterfield bidding them a formal good-bye. Nick Jasniff was sullen and looked as if he wanted to kill both boys.

"He'll get back at us some day, if he can," observed the senator's son, as they drove back to Siddingate.

Arriving at the town, the two youths took the first train back to London proper. Here they found that to get to Christiania they would have to take a train to Hull and from there try to obtain passage on some vessel bound for the Norwegian capital.

"It's only a four hours' ride to Hull," said Dave, consulting a time-table. "I can get there to-night, if I wish."

"All right, let us take the first train."

"Do you want to go to Hull to see me off, Roger?"

"I am not going to see you off, Dave."

"What do you mean?"

"I am going with you—if you'll have me."

"To Norway?"

"Sure—anywhere."

"But what will your folks say?"

"They won't mind—so long as I keep out of trouble. I told father we might go further than England."

"I'll be pleased to have you along."

They settled up at the hotel, and quarter of an hour later were at the station. At the "booking office," as it is called in England, they procured tickets for seats in a first-class coach, and soon the train came along.

"It seems funny to be locked up in such a coach as this," remarked Dave. "I must say, I like our style of open car best."

They were soon leaving the smoky and foggy city of London behind and rushing northward. Only two stops were made, one at Leicester and the other at Sheffield.

"Here is where the celebrated Sheffield cutlery comes from," observed Roger, as the last stop was made. "If we were going to stop over I'd buy a pocket-knife for a souvenir."

"Remember, we must get some picture postals at Hull," answered Dave, who had not forgotten the promise made to Jessie. He had already sent her over a dozen cards.

Hull is one of the main seaports of England, and ship-building and sail-making are great industries there. In the harbor were a great many steamers and sailing vessels, bound for ports all over the world.

Dave was in a fever of anxiety. He had been unable to ascertain when the expedition in which his father was interested was to start northward from Christiania, and, as a consequence, he wanted to reach the Norwegian capital city with the least possible delay.

"It will be just my luck to arrive there after the expedition has left," he half groaned to his chum.

"Let us hope for the best, Dave."

As late as it was, the two youths skirmished around and finally learned that a steamer would leave Hull for Christiania two days later. On this they booked passage, and then Dave hurried to the nearest telegraph office and sent a cablegram to Christiania, addressed to his parent. The message ran as follows:

"Wait until I reach you. Your long-lost son,

"DAVID PORTER."

"That ought to hold him," said he to Roger.

"Of course it will—if he gets it, Dave."

The message sent, the two boys looked around for a hotel, and then obtained a decidedly late supper. When they retired, Roger slept "like a top," as he expressed it, but Dave lay awake for hours, wondering what the future held in store for him. Now that he seemed so close to his father he could scarcely wait for the time to come when they should meet face to face.

Roughly estimated, the distance from Hull to Christiania is about six hundred miles. As it was winter, the harbor of the Norwegian capital was frozen up, so the steamer could not go further than Drobak, a seaport eighteen miles south of the capital. Owing to the wintry weather Dave learned that it would take three full days to make the voyage.

It was not particularly cold on leaving Hull, but as soon as the steamer struck the full sweep of the winds on the North Sea the thermometer went down rapidly.

"Phew! but this is cold!" ejaculated Roger, as he buttoned his coat tightly. "It's like being down on the coast of Maine."

"Just wait until we get to Norway—there is where you'll find it cold," was Dave's reply. "Maybe we'll have to invest in fur overcoats."

"Well, I am willing," answered the senator's son, with a laugh.

Fortunately, both boys had been supplied with considerable cash and ample letters of credit, so that monetary matters did not bother them. Before leaving Hull, Dave supplied himself with an English-Danish Self-Educator, and on the ship both he and Roger studied the volume with interest.

"I want to know a few words," said the senator's son. "It is awful to be in a country when you're not able to speak a word of the language."

On the second day of the voyage the two boys got something of a scare. They heard an explosion and then a great cloud of steam spread over the vessel.

"Something has burst, that's certain!" cried Dave. "Let us go on deck and see what is wrong."

They hurried out on the main deck and there found a great number of passengers, all in a state of excitement. A few were on the point of leaping overboard, thinking the ship was going to sink. But the officers were cool and collected, and did all in their power to restore confidence.

"Nothing serious has occurred," was the announcement one of the officers made, in the presence of Dave and his chum. "A steam-pipe burst and one of the engineers was scalded, that is all. The pipe will be repaired as quickly as possible."

"Will this delay us much?" asked Dave.

"That I cannot say," was the answer.

The rest of the day passed quietly enough. The steamer moved along slowly, for the engines were badly crippled. Dave, thinking only of the time in which he might reach his destination, walked the deck impatiently.

"I'll wager this means another day," said he to his chum.

"More than likely," was the reply. "Well, since it can't be helped you'll have to make the best of it."

"Yes, I know, Roger, but I'd give almost anything to be in Christiania now."

"I can appreciate how you feel. I'd be the same way, if I were in your place, Dave," was the kindly answer of the senator's son.

That night a heavy snowstorm came on, and by morning all around the ship was completely shut out of sight. The steam-pipe had now been mended, but the engines had to be kept down at a low speed for fear of running into some other craft. The foghorn was blown constantly, and occasionally came an answering sound from another vessel. Once they ran close to a three-masted schooner, and then the bell on that ship was rung with a loud clamor.

"That was a narrow escape," said Dave, after the schooner had drifted from sight.

Towards night the snowstorm increased in violence. The wind piped merrily over the deck of the steamer and the boys were glad to remain inside. They turned in early, since there was nothing else to do.



Dave could not sleep at first, but presently dropped into a light doze. When he awoke he sat up with a start. He had heard a strange noise, but now all was silent. He called to Roger, but received no reply. Then he called again and got up and lighted the room.

"Roger, where are you?" he repeated, and then looked toward his chum's berth. To his amazement the berth was made up as if it had never been occupied, and Roger was gone.



CHAPTER XVIII

IN NORWAY AT LAST

There is no denying the fact that Dave was startled. It was one thing to have Roger missing, it was quite another to have his chum gone and have the berth made up as if it had never been occupied.

"He went to bed—I saw him go," muttered the boy from the country to himself. "Am I dreaming, or what can the matter be?"

The more Dave thought over the affair the more was he puzzled. As quickly as he could, he put on some of his clothing and slipped on his shoes. Then he opened the stateroom door and stepped out into the passageway leading to the main saloon.

There was a dim light burning outside, and nobody appeared to be in sight. Dave looked up and down the passageway eagerly, and even stepped to one of the corners. Then he walked to the main saloon, with its big sofas and easy-chairs, and its grand piano. Not a soul was in sight anywhere.

"Well, if this isn't the queerest yet," he murmured, and pinched himself, to make certain that he was not dreaming. He walked to one end of the saloon and then to the other, and then started for the stairs leading out on deck.

At that moment there came an extra-heavy gust of wind and the steamer rocked violently. Dave was thrown on his side and fell headlong over the end of a sofa. As he went down he heard several cries, one in a voice that sounded familiar to him.

"That must have been Roger," he told himself. "Where can he be?" And then he called out loudly: "Roger! Roger Morr! Where are you?"

The boat continued to toss and pitch, and now Dave had all he could do to keep his feet. When he reached the entrance to the main deck he was stopped by one of the under officers.

"Too rough to go out there."

"I am looking for my friend," answered Dave, and told of the disappearance of the senator's son.

"Perhaps he's walking in his sleep," suggested the officer.

"That may be it!" cried Dave. "Queer I didn't think of it. He told me he got up once in a great while."

"If he was walking in his sleep the lurching of the boat must have awakened him—if he cried out. Maybe he went back to his stateroom," continued the ship's official.

"I'll go back and see."

Not without some difficulty Dave returned to his stateroom. The steamer was pitching and tossing dreadfully, and the wind made a wild whistling sound overhead. He heard the overturning of a table or a chair and the crash of glassware.

"We are going to have a tough night of it," he reasoned. "Guess further sleep will be out of the question."

Hoping he would find his chum in the stateroom, Dave returned to the apartment. Here another surprise was in store for him. The door was locked from the inside. He rapped loudly several times.

"Hello! Who's there?" came in a sleepy voice.

"Roger, is that you? Let me in."

"Dave, I declare! Why, I thought you were in your berth."

The senator's son came to the door and opened it. Dave entered the stateroom, which was dark.