“It is, and if you want to use it to run down to Ashton with, take it,” answered the other, readily. He had once been up in the Dartaway and was glad of a chance to pay the debt he thought he owed the Rovers.
“Thanks very much, I’ll use it,” returned Dick.
“Come on, then, and I’ll make sure that it is all right.”
The two young collegians hurried to a room attached to the gymnasium, where bicycles, motorcycles, and other things were kept. Soon the motorcycle was brought out and Paul gave it a brief inspection.
“All right,” he announced. “I thought it would be.”
“Then I’m off,” answered Dick, and pushing the machine along the path towards the road, he hopped into the seat and turned on the power.
Dick had never had much experience in running a motorcycle, but he had tried one enough to know how it should be handled, and soon he was well on his way and riding at a fair rate of speed. The road was good, and he had a fine headlight, and almost before he knew it he had reached Ashton and was approaching the depot.
He had been afraid the ticket and telegraph office would be closed, but he found the man inside, making up a report.
“I want to rush a message home,” he said. “And I want to arrange to have it telephoned to our house. I will pay the bill, whatever it is.”
“It will depend on whether we can get the operator at Oak Run,” said the man. “He may have locked up for the night.”
The message was written out, and Dick waited in the depot for an answer. Quarter of an hour passed slowly and then the telegraph operator came to him.
“Sorry, Mr. Rover, but Oak Run doesn’t answer. I guess the office is closed for the night.”
“Try for Spotstown,” said Dick, naming another railroad station several miles further from his home.
Again came a wait.
“Same story—can’t get Spotstown, either,” said the operator.
“Well, I’ve got to get somebody, somehow,” murmured the oldest Rover boy. “I guess you can get New York City, can’t you?” he asked, with a faint smile.
“Of course.”
“Then I’ll write another message.”
Dick knew that when his father was in the habit of going to the metropolis he usually stopped at a large place on Broadway, which I shall call the Outlook Hotel. He accordingly addressed a message to the manager of that hotel, as follows:
“Is Anderson Rover at your hotel? If so, have him telegraph me; otherwise send me word at once.”
“Now I guess I’ll hear something,” thought Dick, as he turned in this telegram and paid for having it transmitted. “Send it Rush, please,” he told the operator.
Again there was a wait—this time of nearly half an hour. At last the instrument commenced to click in the telegraph office, and Dick waited anxiously while the man took the message down.
“Is it for me?” he asked. And the man nodded, as he continued to write.
When the sheet was passed over the operator looked curiously at Dick—a look that made the youth’s heart sink. With a hand that trembled in spite of his efforts to steady it, the oldest Rover boy held up the paper and read this:
“Anderson Rover was at this hotel until yesterday morning. His baggage is here. Bill unpaid. Left no word.
Thomas A. Garley, Manager.”
“Gone!” murmured Dick, brokenly. “‘Left no word,’ ‘Bill unpaid!’ What can it mean?”
“Something unusual, eh?” said the operator, as he took the bankbill the youth handed out to him for the message and gave back the change.
“Very unusual,” was the reply. “I don’t know what to make of this.” Dick thought for a moment. “I suppose I can’t get a train home before morning.”
“No, the first train for you is the eight-forty-five tomorrow.”
“Too bad! I wish there was a train right away.”
There was no help for it, and a few minutes later the youth left the depot, and jumping on the motorcycle, started back for Brill College.
As he rode along Dick’s thoughts were busy. What had taken his parent to New York and why had he disappeared so mysteriously?
“He certainly must have gone there on business—the business that has been bothering him so long,” he mused. “But would that cause him to disappear? Maybe he had an accident, or was waylaid for his money.”
A thousand thoughts surged through poor Dick’s brain, but he could reach no definite conclusion regarding his father’s disappearance. Yet he was certain of one thing.
“He didn’t leave the hotel that way of his own accord,” he reasoned. “He would pay his bill and look after his baggage. It’s for some outside reason that he didn’t return to his hotel and answer Uncle Randolph’s telegram.”
When Dick arrived at the college he put the motorcycle away and went directly to his room. Sam and Tom were still away, but he heard them returning just as he was on the point of going after them. As they came in, he motioned for them to close and lock the door. Fortunately, they had their rooms to themselves, Songbird, their only roommate, having gone away for the night.
“What did you learn, Dick?” asked both brothers, quickly.
“Not much—and still a great deal,” he answered, and told them how he had tried to send word home and had then called up the hotel in the metropolis.
“What do you make of this?” asked Tom, after he and Sam had read the brief message from the hotel manager.
“Do you think he met with an accident?” questioned Sam.
“I don’t know what to think.”
“It looks mighty suspicious to me—the bill unpaid and baggage left behind,” murmured Tom. Then of a sudden he drew a sharp breath. “Oh, Dick, do you think—” And then Tom stopped short.
“What, Tom?”
“I—I hate to say it, but do you think it’s possible that dad got—got a little bit out of his head—with that business worrying him?”
“It’s possible, Tom. Men have been known to get that way from business troubles, and dad was far from well, we all know that.”
“He should have taken somebody to New York with him,” put in Sam. “But it’s no use talking about that now. The question is, What are we going to do? I can’t stay here and study when he is missing.”
“Not much—I couldn’t study a thing!” cried Tom.
“I know what I am going to do,” replied Dick. “I am going to take that early train home, and see Uncle Rudolph. I’ll send another message to that hotel manager, too, and then, unless we get word that everything is O. K., I’m going to New York as fast as I can get there.”
“And I’ll go along!” cried each of the two brothers.
“Yes, that might be best—for if he is still missing we may have a great task to learn what became of him. We’ll have to hunt the hospitals, and the police headquarters, and the—the—” Dick was going to add “morgue,” but he could not bring himself to utter the word. It was too awful to think that their father might be dead.
“We’ll have to explain to Doctor Wallington, or Professor Blackie,” said Tom.
“And send word to the girls,” added Sam.
“I don’t want to worry anybody more than I have to,” said Dick. “This may turn out all right after all,” he added. But he had his doubts. That something unusual had happened to his father he was certain.
The boys spent some little time in packing their suitcases with such things as they deemed necessary for the trip, and then turned out the lights and went to bed. But none of them slept well. All tumbled and tossed on their couches, trying in vain to solve the mystery that surrounded the disappearance of their parent.
They were up an hour earlier than usual, and it was Dick who took the liberty to knock on the door of the head of the institution.
“Who is it?” asked the worthy doctor
, and the young collegian told him. A moment later the head of the college appeared, wrapped in a dressing gown.
“I am sorry to disturb you, sir,” said Dick. “But something has happened that has upset me and my brothers a great deal.” And he briefly related the condition of affairs, and asked leave of absence for himself and Tom and Sam.
“This is certainly alarming,” said Doctor Wallington, sympathetically. “I trust your father is speedily found and that nothing serious has happened to him. Yes, you may go, and remain as long as is necessary. When he is found, let me know.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Dick, and after a few words more he hurried off. Then he and his brothers got an early breakfast, and had Abner Filbury drive them to the Ashton depot. Only a handful of students saw them depart.
“Wish you success, boys!” cried Stanley after them.
“Yes, indeed,” added Spud. “Keep up a stout heart. Maybe it’s all right, after all. There may be some mistake somewhere.”
CHAPTER XI
AT THE FARM
“Oak Run! All out for Oak Run!”
It was the familiar cry of the brakeman of the train, as the cars rolled into the little station at which the Rover boys were to alight. The ride from Ashton had been without incident. They had had to make two changes, and had fretted not a little over a delay of half an hour at one junction point.
“There’s old Ricks!” cried Sam, motioning to the station master, who was looking after some baggage. “Remember the fun we had with him on our last trip here, Tom?”
“Indeed, yes,” was the reply, and the fun-loving Rover grinned a little.
“No time for fun now,” put in Dick, quickly. “We want to get home just as soon as possible.”
From one of the telegraph offices along the line the boys had sent word ahead, and at the station they found Jack Ness, the hired man, who had brought the family touring car.
“Glad to see you back,” said the hired man, touching his cap.
“Any news, Jack?” asked the three, in one voice.
“You mean from your father?”
“Yes.”
“No,” and Jack Ness shook his head slowly “Not a line for several days. Your aunt an’ uncle are worried ’most to death.”
The boys leaped into the touring car, Dick taking the wheel and Sam getting in beside him. Tom and the hired man occupied the tonneau, with the baggage. Away they went, in a cloud of dust, over the frail bridge that spanned the river and through the village of Dexter’s Corners. Then they struck the country road leading to Valley Brook farm, their home. Dick increased the speed to thirty miles an hour—all the car would stand on such a highway.
“Say, we’ll have an accident!” cried Jack Ness, in alarm. “It ain’t safe to run so fast, nohow!”
“Sit still, Jack; Dick knows what he is doing,” commanded Tom. “We want to get home just as soon as we can.”
“Well, I don’t blame ye fer wantin’ to git home,—but I don’t want to git kilt!” murmured the man of all work.
Farm after farm was passed and also a patch of timber land. Then they swept around a turn and came in sight of Valley Brook, with its broad fields and its gurgling brook flowing down to Swift River.
“There’s Aleck!” shouted Sam, pointing to a colored man who was standing at the entrance to a lane. He waved his hand and Alexander Pop, one of the servants, and a man who had made many trips with the Rovers, took off his hat and waved in return.
As he swung up to the broad piazza of the house, Dick honked the automobile horn. At once the door flew open and Mrs. Rover ran out, followed by her husband.
“Oh, boys! I am so glad to see you!” cried Mrs. Rover.
“How are you, Aunt Martha!” returned Sam, leaping out and kissing her, an example speedily followed by his brothers.
“Very glad you came,” said Randolph Rover, a tall, thin, and studious-looking man, wearing big spectacles. He shook hands all around. “Come right into the house.”
“You haven’t any word from dad?” questioned Sam.
“Nothing, boys—and I do not know what to make of it.”
“It is a fearful state of affairs,” burst out Mrs. Rover, and tears stood in her motherly eyes. “We cannot imagine what has happened to your father.”
“I sent another telegram to that hotel,” said Dick. “I asked the manager to send his reply here.”
It was a rather sad home-coming, and even Tom felt much depressed in spirits. All filed into the house and to the sitting-room, leaving Jack Ness and Aleck Pop to look after the automobile and the baggage.
“We ought to get a message from New York soon,” remarked Dick, after his uncle had related the little he had to tell about how Anderson Rover had gone away on the trip to the metropolis. Evidently Randolph Rover knew little about the business that had taken his brother to the city. He was no business man himself—being wrapped up in what he called scientific farming—and probably the boys’ father had not thought it worth while to take him into his confidence.
Dinner was on the table, and the boys went to the dining-room to eat. But nobody had any appetite, and the fine repast prepared by the cook under Mrs. Rover’s directions, was much of a failure. Once the telephone rang and the boys rushed to it. But the call was only a local one, of little consequence.
“I think the best thing I can do will be to go over dad’s private papers,” said Dick, presently. “They may give me a clew of where to look for him in New York.”
“That’s the talk!” cried Tom. “Come on, let’s get busy.” He hated to sit still at any time, and just at present inactivity was doubly irksome.
During the past year a room had been added to the house and this was used as a library and sort of office combined, being provided with a substantial safe and two roller-top desks. One of the desks was used exclusively by Anderson Rover for his private letters and papers. When sick the man had given Dick the extra key to the desk, telling him to keep it. The father trusted his three sons implicitly, only keeping to himself such business affairs as he thought would not interest them.
The boys sat down and, led by Dick, began a careful inspection of the many letters and documents which the roller-top desk contained. A large number of the papers and letters they knew had no bearing on the affair now in hand. But presently Dick took up some letters of recent date and scanned them with interest.
“I guess this is what we are after!” he cried.
“I was afraid it might be that.”
“What is it?” asked his brothers.
“That old irrigation scheme—the one run by Pelter, Japson& Company, of Wall Street, New York.”
“Why, I thought dad had dropped that,” said Sam, in surprise.
“He tried to. But they held him to some agreement—I don’t know exactly what. They wanted to get more money out of him—if they could.”
“And you think he went to New York on that account, Dick?” asked Tom.
“It looks so to me.”
“But that doesn’t account for his disappearance.”
“Perhaps it does.”
“What do you mean?”
“Those fellows may be holding him a prisoner, or they may even have put him out of the way altogether—although I doubt if they are as bad as all that.”
“Some men would do anything for money,” grumbled Sam. “But what good would it do to hold him a prisoner?”
“They may want to force him to sign some papers, or give up some papers he is holding, Sam. One thing is certain, they were very anxious to see him—these letters show that.”
“Hadn’t we better telegraph to them and see what they have to say?” suggested Tom.
“Perhaps, Tom—but, somehow, I don’t think that would be a wise move to make. Father did not trust them. He said they were sharpers. If we sent them any word it migh
t put them more on guard than they would otherwise be. I think the best thing to do is to go to New York and interview them personally—if we don’t get word from dad before we leave.”
“I think—” commenced Tom, and just then the telephone bell rang and all rushed to it. Dick took up the receiver.
“Is this the Rovers’ house?” asked a voice over the wire.
“Yes.”
“I have a telegraph message for Richard Rover.”
“All right, Mr. Barnes,” answered Dick. “What is it?” He had recognized the voice of the telegraph operator at Oak Run.
“Oh, it’s you, is it, Mr. Rover?” returned the operator. “This is from New York City, and is signed, ‘Thomas A. Garley.’”
“Yes, yes! Read the message!” cried Dick, and all three boys listened closely while Dick held the receiver.
“He says: ‘No news of Anderson Rover. Better come on and investigate.’”
“Is that all?”
“Yes.” And the operator repeated the message. “I’ll mail the sheet to you,” he added.
“All right, much obliged.” Dick turned to his brothers. “Shall I send word back that we are coming?” he questioned.
“Yes.”
“Take this message down, Mr. Barnes,” went on Dick, and dictated what he wished to say. “I’ll settle next time I see you,” he added, and hung up the receiver.
The uncle and the aunt of the boys wished to know the news, if such it can be called, and the lads told them. At once Mrs. Rover burst into tears.
“I am sure something has befallen Anderson!” she sobbed. “Oh, what shall we do, Randolph?”
“I—I think I had better go to New York and—er—make some—er—inquiries,” answered her husband, somewhat helplessly, for a visit to the teeming metropolis always appalled him.
“No, you stay here, and wait for some word, Uncle Randolph,” said Dick. “Sam and Tom and I are going to New York.”
“Oh, boys!” cried Mrs. Rover. “Going alone?”
“Why not, Aunt Martha?” asked Sam. “We are not afraid.”
“I know that. But this is—er—no ordinary trip. You may get into trouble, and—”
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