“Well, he is going to lose most of his property—or at least, he had to give up what belonged to Dad. The lawyer thinks that will be punishment enough. We thought of prosecuting the bunch, but Dad is in such bad health he didn’t want to bother. Besides, one of the crowd, Josiah Crabtree, broke his leg in two places and he will be a cripple for life.”
“Serves the rascal right! He had no business to interfere with you, and with that Mrs. Stanhope an’ her daughter. I ain’t got no sympathy to waste on sech cattle,” snorted the straight-minded farmer.
Presently they came in sight of Hope Seminary and Mr. Sanderson drove around to a side door, to interview the housekeeper. Sam walked around to the front, and rang the doorbell, and a maid answered his summons.
“I would like to see Miss Grace Laning,” he said. “Or, if she isn’t in, her sister, Miss Nellie.”
“Yes, sir,” and the girl ushered the young collegian into the reception room.
A few minutes later Grace appeared. She looked at Sam in surprise.
“Why, I thought you wrote you’d come next Tuesday,” she cried.
“So I did, Grace. But this time I’ve come about Tom. Have you seen him?”
“Tom? No. Did he come here?”
“I thought he might have come. Mr. Sanderson saw him on the road, headed in this direction.”
“Oh, Sam, you look so—so alarmed! What is it? What do you think has happened?”
“I don’t know what has happened, Grace. But something is wrong, I feel sure of it,” answered Sam, with conviction. “Tom is missing, and I can’t imagine what has become of him.”
CHAPTER XI
WHAT THE GIRLS KNEW
After that, Sam related the particulars of what had occurred, to which Grace listened closely. As she did this, tears streamed down the cheeks of the girl.
“This will break Nellie’s heart—if it isn’t broken already,” she faltered. “You know I wrote that I had something to tell you, Sam. It was about Nellie. But I can’t tell you here—let us take a walk.”
“All right. But I can’t stay long—I must go back with Mr. Sanderson and continue this hunt for Tom.”
“To be sure—I won’t keep you but a few minutes.” Grace led the way outside and down one of the campus walks. “You remember that time we came back from the auto ride?” she said.
“Of course.”
“Well, when Nellie and I got to our room she threw herself on the bed and cried as if her heart was breaking. I couldn’t do anything with her. I wanted to find out what it was all about, but at first she wouldn’t tell me a word. Then she said it was Tom—that he had acted so queerly when they took a walk in the park he had scared her.”
“What did he do?”
“Oh, he talked so queer! He told Nellie tie wished he had the Dartaway back, so that they could go on a honeymoon trip to the moon. And then he laughed and asked her if she would go on a camelback ride with him through the Sahara desert. And then he said he didn’t want to get married until he could lay a big nugget of gold at her feet—and a lot of nonsense like that. She was awfully scared at first, but after a while he got more rational and then she felt a little better. But she couldn’t get it off her mind, and it made her feel dreadful! And then, the other day, Tom sent her the queerest letter, full of all sorts of the wildest kind of nonsense—about going to the North Pole and bringing the pole back with him, and about sending her a pair of slippers, to wear in place of gloves, and asking her to send him a red and blue handkerchief, to keep his head from aching. And he wrote that he didn’t think he was cut out for college, that he would rather shovel nuggets in a gold mine—that is just what he wrote—‘shovel nuggets in a gold mine!’ Oh, such a mixed-up letter you never read! And it made Nellie cry again. Oh, Sam, what does it mean?”
He shook his head and gave a deep sigh.
“I don’t know, Grace. It scares me almost as much as it has Nellie. Maybe Tom ought to be put in a sanitarium.”
“Oh, do you think he is really out of his mind?”
“It almost looks that way. Poor Tom! and he was always so bright and full of fun!”
“But what can—Oh, Sam, here is Nellie now!” cried Grace, as her sister appeared and ran towards them.
“Oh, Sam, I just met Mr. Sanderson and he said you were looking for Tom!” cried Nellie, as she came closer.
“That’s true, Nellie.”
“He hasn’t been here—at least I haven’t seen him.”
“So Grace just told me,” Sam tried to look at the girl in front of him, but had to turn his gaze away. He knew only too well how much Nellie thought of his brother.
“Did he—he run away?” burst out Nellie.
“I don’t know about that, Nellie,” said Sam, and told his story over again, just as he had related it to her sister.
Nellie burst into tears, and Sam and Grace did their best to comfort her. Grace’s own eyes were moist, and Sam had all he could do to keep from breaking down likewise.
“Oh, he is gone, I am sure of it!” cried Nellie. “He is not himself at all! For all we know he may have thrown himself into the river! Oh, what shall we do? What can we do?” and she wrung her hands.
“Don’t take it so hard, Nellie, it may not be so bad after all,” said her sister, soothingly. “Tom may be back to Brill by this time.”
For several minutes the matter was talked over. Then Mr. Sanderson appeared, ready to return to Ashton for his daughter.
“I’ll help you hunt for Tom,” said the bluff farmer. “I know he must be somewhere around. Don’t you worry so,” for he could see that Nellie had been crying.
“Send word at once, when you do find him,” begged Nellie, as the buggy drove away, and Sam promised.
On the way back to town but little was said. Near Brill they met quite a few students and the youngest Rover asked them if they had seen his brother. All replied in the negative.
When Ashton was reached it was dark, and they drove around to the hotel. Songbird and Minnie had been dining, and the student asked Mr. Sanderson and Sam to have something.
“No, I don’t care to eat just now,” said Sam. “I’ll take another look around,” and he left the Sandersons and Songbird together.
But Sam’s walk around the town was productive of no results. He called again on the two doctors, only to be told that Tom had not shown himself at either place. At the depot nobody seemed to remember seeing him. The youth visited several stores where Tom was known, but none of the clerks had seen the missing one.
“I suppose all I can do is to return to Brill and wait,” said Sam, on rejoining those at the hotel. “I might send out a general alarm, but I’d hate to do that and then have Tom walk in as if nothing unusual had happened.”
“And it would be just like him to do it,” returned Songbird.
It was nearly ten o’clock when Sam and his chum returned to the college. Tom had not yet shown himself, nor had he sent in any word. His books and his clothing were exactly as he had left them.
“Well, he didn’t take anything with him,” was Sam’s comment, as several of his chums came in to sympathize with him. “That looks as if he hadn’t meant to go far.”
“Oh, he’ll be back, don’t worry,” said Spud, optimistically.
All did their best to cheer poor Sam up, but this did little good. Sam was much worried and his face showed it.
“I don’t know what to do,” he said. “I certainly don’t feel like going to bed.”
One of the proctors had heard that Tom was missing and came to the room to see about it. Sam told him all he knew and the proctor said he would immediately report the case to Doctor Wallington.
“You know he can’t stay out as late as this without permission,” observed the proctor.
“Permission or no permission I wish he was here,” answered Sam. “He is s
ick and I am very much worried about him.” And then the proctor left.
An hour dragged by and the other students went to bed. Sam sat up in an easy chair, trying to doze, but starting up at every sound. He tried to figure out what would be best for him to do, but could reach no satisfactory conclusion. He looked out of the window. The moon was setting and soon all became dark. A wagon rattled by on the roadway beyond the campus, and the clock in the college tower tolled out the hour of midnight.
“This is simply awful!” murmured Sam, as he walked back to the easy chair and dropped down. “I wonder if I hadn’t better send a message to Dick? But I can’t do it until seven o’clock—the telegraph office is closed.”
At last Sam became so worn out that he could keep his eyes open no longer. He flung himself on his bed, dressed as he was, and fell into a fitful doze. And thus the hours went by until the sun shone over the hills in the East.
“Did he come in?” It was a question put by Songbird, as he came to the door.
“No.”
“Say, Sam, this is strange. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know—telegraph to Dick and send out a general alarm, I guess.”
“You don’t think he simply ran away, do you?”
“What, without telling me? You know better than that, Songbird.”
“Then he must have wandered off while he was out of his mind. Maybe he’s somewhere in the woods around here.”
“Maybe. I only hope he isn’t hurt.”
“Well, if I can do anything, let me know,” answered Songbird, and stepped back into his room to dress.
As soon as possible Sam went to Doctor Wallington and talked the matter over with the head of Brill. The worthy doctor knew about the case already and was all sympathy.
“We had better send out a general alarm,” he said. “And you can notify your folks. It was a mistake to let your brother come back here so soon after being hurt. You can take one of the carriages and drive down to Ashton at once, if you wish, and also drive around to some of the other places in this vicinity. Somebody must have seen your brother after he left here, or after Mr. Sanderson saw him.”
“Would you mind if I take John Powell with me?” asked Sam. “I may need somebody to help me.”
“Very well, Rover, he can go if he wishes.”
“To be sure I’ll go,” said Songbird, when told of this. “And we’ll find Tom, see if we don’t,” he added, by way of cheering Sam.
Sam waited until nine o’clock to see if Tom would show himself and then he and Songbird drove over the Ashton. A search lasting the best part of an hour followed, but nothing new was learned. Then, rather reluctantly—for he knew that Dick was having trouble enough attending to their father’s affairs—he sent a telegram to his big brother, telling of Tom’s disappearance, and adding that he would telegraph again, if anything new turned up.
In driving over to Hope Seminary Mr. Sanderson had pointed out to Sam the spot where he had seen—or thought he had seen—Tom. Sam now determined to visit that spot and see if from that point he could not get on the trail of his brother.
The place was near a turn of the road and just beyond was another road. At the forks stood an old stone house, wherein lived an old basketmaker named Rater. The girls of Hope often bought baskets from the man just to help him along.
Sam and Songbird found Rater sitting on a side porch of his home, with his basket-making materials scattered around him. He was a tall, thin man, somewhat deaf, but with a pair of sharp eyes.
“Come to buy a basket?” he asked, briskly.
“No, I came for a little information, if you can give it, Mr. Rater,” replied Sam.
“What do you want to know?”
“Were you here yesterday?”
“I sure was—all day long.”
“Did you see anything of my brother?” went on Sam. “He is a little larger than I am, and here is his picture,” and the youngest Rover produced a photograph he had brought along.
The old basketmaker looked at the photograph carefully.
“Why, yes, I see that feller,” he said slowly. “He stopped at my gate fer a minute or two. He acted sort o’ strange.”
“In what way?”
“He didn’t speak to me, he spoke to hisself. Said something about a basketful o’ nuggets. I asked him if he wanted to buy a basket, but he only shook his head an’ said somethin’ about wantin’ to git the nuggets o’ gold first. Then, all of a sudden like, he ran away.”
“And which way did he go?” asked Sam, with interest.
“Up the Hoopville road,” and the old basketmaker pointed to the side road which ran past his home.
“Did he have any baggage with him?” questioned Songbird.
“Nary a thing.”
“Thank you for the information,” said Sam, and passed over a quarter, which Rater pocketed with a broad smile. Ready money was scarce with him.
“We’ll drive to Hoopville,” said Sam, a minute later, as he and Songbird got in the buggy. “And we’ll ask about Tom on the way.”
A quarter of a mile was passed and they came to a lonely spot on the highway. Here, the only building in sight was a half tumbled down cottage belonging to a man named Hiram Duff. Duff pretended to be poor, but common report had it that he was a miser and fairly well to do.
“Going to stop here?” questioned Songbird, as they drove near.
“We might as well,” returned Sam. “Old Duff is a tough customer, but in this case—”
He did not finish for at that instant a muffled cry came from the old cottage, startling both boys.
CHAPTER XII
AT HIRAM DUFF’S COTTAGE
“What can that be?”
“Must be somebody in trouble!”
“Maybe it is old Duff!”
“Let us go and see!”
With these hasty exclamations both boys leaped from the carriage they occupied and ran towards the delapidated cottage. The cries continued, coming from somewhere in the interior.
“Wait—we’ll look in the window first,” suggested Sam. “Maybe old Duff is having a quarrel with one of his neighbors, and if so it might not be wise to interfere.”
There was a window with small panes of glass close at hand, and going to this the two youths peered into the cottage. To their surprise they could see nobody. Both lower rooms of the old building seemed to be unoccupied.
“Let’s go around to the rear. Maybe the sounds come from there,” suggested Songbird.
There was a path full of weeds leading to a rear porch that was almost ready to fall down. The back door stood partly open. Nobody was in sight.
“The call comes from somewhere inside,” said Sam. “Come on in. But be on your guard, Songbird. We don’t want to get into trouble.”
Both lads crossed the rickety porch and entered what was the kitchen of the cottage. A musty odor pervaded the building, for old Duff usually kept everything tightly closed.
The place was in disorder, a chair being overturned and several cooking utensils littering the floor. On the stove, which was cold, lay a big carving knife.
“What do you want? Where are you?” called out Sam.
“Oh, help me! Get me out of here!” came the somewhat faint reply. “I am in the cellar!”
“In the cellar!” repeated Songbird. “Are you Mr. Duff?”
“Yes. Help me out, please.”
Both boys looked around for a stairs, but there was none. Then, to one side of the kitchen floor, they saw a trap door. It was shut down and bolted by means of a plug stuck through two staples.
It was an easy matter to kick the plug away and raise the trap door. The boys peered down into the opening below and saw Hiram Duff sitting on the lower step of the stairs. He looked hollow-eyed and almost exhausted.
“What’s t
he matter, Mr. Duff? How did you get shut up this way?” asked Sam, kindly.
“Oh, my! Oh, my!” sighed the old miser. “Ca—can’t you help me up the stairs? I am so—so weak I can’t hardly walk. Where is the rascal who shut me up this way? I’ll have the police on him!”
“Did somebody shut you up In this cellar?” asked Sam, as he and Songbird crawled below to give the old man assistance. They saw that the cellar was merely a big hole in the ground and the stairs were very steep and not particularly safe.
“Yes, somebody got me to come down here and then locked that trap door on me,” grumbled the miser. He got up with difficulty and crawled slowly to the kitchen, the boys coming after him to see that he did not fall back. “Oh, dear, what a time I have had of it!” he whined.
“When was this?” asked Songbird.
“I don’t know—that is, I can’t tell how long it was until I know what time it is now.”
“It is half-past ten,” answered Sam, consulting his watch.
“What! Do you mean half-past ten in the morning?” burst out Hiram Duff. “If that’s true then I’ve been down cellar all night—ever since yesterday afternoon! No wonder I was hungry and thirsty. I’ve got to have something to eat and drink soon, or I’ll starve to death!” And he walked to the kitchen cupboard and got out some bread and meat. There was water in a pail on the bench and he took a long drink of this.
“Who was it locked you in the cellar?” asked Sam.
“Who be you boys?” asked the miser in return.
“We belong to Brill College. We were driving past and we heard you yell,” answered Songbird.
“Yes, I thought I heard a carriage on the road, so I called as loud as I could. I did that ever since that fellow went away, but I guess nobody heard me—leastwise, they didn’t pay no attention.”
“Will you tell us how it all happened?” asked Sam, and then he added aside to Songbird. “Don’t say anything about Tom.” And the would-be poet of Brill nodded to show he understood.
“It was this way,” answered Hiram Duff, dropping down on the chair Sam fixed for him. “I was sitting on the back porch mending my coat when all of a sudden a fellow came around the corner of the house. He was a strange looking young fellow and he wore a funny looking cap pulled away down over his eyes. He asked me if I wasn’t Hackler. I said I wasn’t, that my name was Hiram Duff. Then he says, ‘I knew it, I knew it! At last!’ and sits down on the porch. I says, ‘At last, what?’ and he says something about a nugget of gold. He acted awful mysterious like, and finally he asks me if I’d like to own half of a big nugget of gold. I told him I certainly would.”
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