Dave Porter on Cave Island: or, A Schoolboy's Mysterious Mission. Stratemeyer Edward

got to write a letter to the owner of that hotel and to the theater manager and explain things, and you and Roger Morr have got to beg my pardon. And if you don’t, as I said before, I’ll tell my father and get him to have you arrested.” And now Nat was so excited he moved from one foot to the other and shook his fist in the air.

      To the bully’s surprise Dave did not get excited. On the contrary, our hero’s face showed something that was akin to a faint smile. Ben saw it and wondered at it.

      “Say, you needn’t laugh at me!” howled Nat, noting the look. “Before I get through with you, you’ll find it no laughing matter.”

      “I am not laughing at you, Nat.”

      “Well, do you admit that what I’ve said is true?”

      “No; on the contrary, I say it is false, every word of it. Did you say this happened last Wednesday?”

      “I did.”

      “Both Roger Morr and I were at the school all day Wednesday. During the day I attended all my classes, and after school I went to my room, along with Polly Vane, Luke Watson, and Sam Day, and the three of us wrote on the essays we had to hand in Thursday. After supper we went down to the gym for about half an hour, and then went back to our dormitory. And, come to think of it, you saw us there,” added Dave suddenly.

      “I saw you?”

      “You certainly did. You came to the door and asked Luke Watson for a Latin book; don’t you remember? Luke got it out of his bureau. We were all at the big table. Sam Day flipped a button at you and it hit you in the chin.”

      At these unexpected words the face of the money-lender’s son fell.

      “Was that – er – was that Wednesday?” he faltered.

      “It certainly was, for we had to hand the essays in Thursday and we were all working like beavers on them.”

      “Nat, what Dave says is absolutely true – I know he wasn’t near Leesburgh last week, for I was with him every day and every evening,” said Ben.

      “But I got the word from some fellows in Leesburgh. They followed you from the hotel to the show and talked to you afterwards, and they said you told them your name was Porter, and the other chap said his name was Morr. They said you gave the names of Poole and Plum just to keep your real identity hidden.”

      “Well, I am not guilty, Nat; I give you my word of honor on it.”

      “But – but – if you aren’t guilty how is it those fellows got your name and that of Morr?” asked the money-lender’s son, not knowing what else to say.

      “I think I can explain it, Nat. The same fellows who did that are annoying me in other ways. But I’ll not explain unless you will give me your word of honor to keep it a secret, at least for the present.”

      “A secret, why?”

      “Because I don’t want the thing talked about in public. The more you talk about such things the worse off you are. Let me tell you that I have suffered more than you have, and other folks have suffered too.”

      “Do you mean to say that some other fellows did this and gave my name and Plum’s first and yours and Morr’s afterwards?” asked Nat, curiously.

      “Exactly.”

      “Why?”

      “For a twofold reason; first to blacken your character and that of Plum, and, secondly, to cause trouble between all of us.”

      “What fellows would be mean enough to do that?”

      “Two fellows who used to be your friends, but who have had to run away, to keep from being arrested.”

      “Say, you don’t mean Link Merwell and Nick Jasniff!” burst out the money-lender’s son.

      “Those are the chaps I do mean, Nat.”

      “But I thought they had left these parts. They were in Crumville, I know,” and now the bully looked knowingly at our hero.

      “You have heard the reports from home then?” asked Dave, and he felt his face burn.

      “Sure.”

      “Nat, those reports are all false – as false as this report of your doings at Leesburgh. They are gotten up by Jasniff and Merwell solely to injure my friends and my family and me. My sister and Jessie Wadsworth would refuse to even recognize those fellows, much less go auto-riding with them. Let me tell you something.” And in as few words as possible our hero related how things had been sent to him and his friends without being ordered by them, and of the other trouble Jasniff and Merwell were causing. The money-lender’s son was incredulous at first, but gradually his face relaxed.

      “And is all that really so?” he asked, at last.

      “Every word is absolutely true,” answered Dave.

      “Then Nick and Link ought to be in jail!” burst out Nat. “It’s an outrage to let them do such things. Why don’t you have ’em locked up – that is what I’d do!”

      “We’ve got to catch them first.”

      “Do you mean to say you are trying to do that?”

      “We are.”

      “Well, you catch ’em, and if you want me to appear against ’em, I’ll do it – and I’ll catch ’em myself if I can.”

      There was a pause, and Nat started for the doorway of the freight room. But Ben still barred the way.

      “Nat, don’t you think you were rather hasty in accusing Dave?” he asked, bluntly.

      “Well – er – maybe I was,” answered the money-lender’s son, growing a bit red.

      “Oh, let it pass,” said Dave. “I might have been worked up myself, if I had been in Nat’s place.”

      “Here comes the train – we don’t want to miss it,” cried the money-lender’s son, and he showed that he was glad to close the interview. “Remember, if you catch those fellows, I’ll testify against ’em!” he called over his shoulder as he pushed through the doorway.

      “The same old Nat, never willing to acknowledge himself in the wrong,” was Ben’s comment, as he and Dave ran for the car steps. The other boy had lost himself in the waiting crowd and got into another car, and they did not see him again until Crumville was reached, and even then he did not speak to them.

      The snow was coming down lightly when Dave and Ben alighted, baggage and bundles in hand, for they had not risked checking anything in such a crowd. Ben’s father was on hand to greet him, and close at hand stood the Wadsworth family sleigh, with Laura and Jessie on the rear seat. The driver came to take the suit-case and Dave’s bundle, grinning a welcome as he did so.

      “There’s Dave!” cried Jessie, as soon as he appeared. “Isn’t he growing tall!” she added.

      “Yes,” answered the sister. “Dave!” she called.

      “Here we are again!” he cried with a bright smile, and shook hands. “I brought you a snowstorm for a change.”

      “I like snow for Christmas,” answered Jessie. She was blushing, for Dave had given her hand an extra tight squeeze.

      “How are the folks?”

      “All very well,” answered Laura. “What have you in that big bundle?”

      “Oh, that’s a secret, sis,” he returned.

      “Christmas presents!” cried the sister. “Jessie, let us open the bundle right away.” And she made a playful reach for it.

      “Not to-day – that belongs to Santa Claus!” cried the brother, holding the bundle out of reach. “My, but this town looks good to me!” he added, as he looked around and waved his hand to Mr. Basswood. Then Ben took a moment to run up and greet the girls.

      “You must come over, Ben,” said Laura.

      “Why, yes, by all means,” added Jessie,