Dave Porter and the Runaways: or, Last Days at Oak Hall

“In Oakdale,” said Dave, slowly. “Say, you blew up that hotel fort in fine shape, didn’t you?”

“Ha! ha! so I did! But I was discovered, worse luck, I was discovered!” continued the wild man, with a sad shake of his head. “The enemy saw me!”

“Somebody saw you?” queried our hero, with interest.

“Yes, worse luck. But it shan’t happen again. Next time I shall go masked. I have my mask here.” And Wilbur Poole pulled from his pocket a mask made of a bit of blue cloth. “I will show you how I wear it.” And he fastened it over his face by means of a couple of strings.

“Fine! fine!” cried Dave, in pretended delight. He wished to humor the man until Phil returned with the others. “It couldn’t be better. You ought to patent that kind of a mask.”

“I will patent it soon, after the other fort is down.”

“You just said somebody saw you when you blew up the other,” continued our hero. “Who was it?”

“Ha! that is a state secret. Only the cabinet must know of it – the cabinet and the man who makes shoes.”

“I am sorry you won’t let me in on your secrets,” said Dave. “I want to help you. Won’t you hire me as a clerk?”

“How much do you want a week?” demanded the wild man, in a business-like tone.

“How much will you give?”

“To a good clerk forty dollars.”

“Then I’ll take the job.”

“Very good. Your name is Crusoe, isn’t it – Robinson Crusoe?”

“You’ve got it.”

“If I give you the job, you must have your hair shaved off,” continued the wild man, looking at Dave’s hair critically.

“All right, I’ll have that done when we reach a barber shop.”

“It isn’t necessary to wait!” cried Wilbur Poole. “I am a barber.”

“You?”

“To be sure – I have a certificate from the Emperor of Siam. See here!”

The wild man put his hand into an inner pocket and suddenly brought forth a pair of long shears.

“I can cut your hair and shave you,” he announced. “Just sit down on yonder throne and I’ll start to work.” And he pointed to a flat rock.

The sight of the sharp-pointed shears was not a pleasant one, and when the wild man invited him to sit down Dave felt very much like running away. The man evidently saw how he felt, and suddenly caught him by the arm.

“Sit down!” he thundered. “I won’t hurt you. I am an expert barber.”

“Let us talk about the job first,” said Dave, trying to keep his wits about him, although he was terribly disturbed. He wondered how long it would be before Phil would return.

“What do you want to know?”

“Will you cut my hair in the latest fashion?”

“I never cut hair in any other way.”

“And will you curl the ends? I like curls.”

“If you want them, although they make a man look girlish,” answered the wild man.

“And will you–” went on Dave, when Wilbur Poole suddenly grabbed him by both arms and forced him backwards on the flat rock.

“I’ll go to work at once!” cried the wild man. “Sit still!” And he flourished the shears before our hero’s face.

Dave felt a chill run down his backbone. But a moment later he felt a thrill of relief, as from the bushes behind the wild man stepped Phil, Mr. Dale, and several others.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE CAPTURE OF THE WILD MAN

“Now then, you may go to work,” said our hero, as he saw Mr. Dale come up close behind the wild man. “But sharpen the scissors first, please.”

“I will,” was Wilbur Poole’s answer, and he opened up the shears and commenced to stroke them back and forth on a rock near by.

An instant later the wild man was jerked over backwards and the dangerous shears were snatched from his grasp. He commenced to struggle, but the whole crowd surrounded him, and before he could realize the situation his hands were made fast.

“It is treachery, base treachery!” he groaned. “My army has betrayed me!” And he commenced to weep.

“What a terrible state of mind to be in!” murmured Roger. “He is certainly as crazy as they make ’em!”

“I guess you are right,” answered Phil. “But I am glad we have got him.”

“He spoke about the blowing up of the hotel,” said Dave. “And he said somebody saw him do it.”

“Who was it?”

“He didn’t mention any names.”

“Maybe he was simply wandering in his mind,” suggested Ben.

“I don’t think so,” returned Dave. “I think, if he was questioned long enough, we could get the truth out of him. He doesn’t seem to be crazy all the time.”

“It’s a terrible thing for the Poole family – to have such a crazy man in it,” was Buster’s opinion; and the other lads agreed with him.

The prisoner was marched along the brook, past the home of old Herick, and then down the river-road. By this time all the searchers had come together, including Henry Morrison and some outsiders.

“I’m mighty glad you’ve got him,” said the farmer. “And I hope he don’t get away from you.”

“He won’t get away,” answered Mr. Dale.

“The women of this district have been afraid to go out alone,” went on Henry Morrison. “They’ll be glad to know he’s been captured.”

“We’ll have to let the Pooles know right away,” said Dave.

“I fancy Doctor Clay will send a telegram,” answered Mr. Dale. “And in the meanwhile we’ll have to take the prisoner to the Oakdale lockup.”

It was nearly noon when the crowd reached Oak Hall. The wild man had but little to say. His capture had evidently broken his spirit, and he was inclined to cry. But when Doctor Clay asked him if he would like to have something to eat, he brightened up wonderfully.

“It is a sad case,” said the master of the Hall. “But under proper treatment I think he can be cured.”

The news quickly circulated throughout the school that the wild man had been caught and that he was Wilbur Poole, an uncle to Nat, and all the boys were anxious to catch a sight of the strange individual. The teachers and servants were likewise curious, and looked at him as he ate his dinner in a corner of the dining-hall, surrounded by those who had captured him and who were watching, to see that he did not get away. He was not allowed to use a knife and fork, but his food was cut up for him and served with a spoon.

The only person at Oak Hall who did not come in to see the wild man was Job Haskers. When asked about this, the dictatorial teacher shrugged his shoulders.

“Some of the boys are wild enough for me,” he said. “I want nothing to do with the insane.”

“It is a sad case,” said the teacher who was addressing Job Haskers.

“There are many just as bad,” responded the other, coldly. “It is up to the Poole family to look after that man and see that he doesn’t break out again.”

It was decided to take the wild man down to Oakdale in the school carryall, to be driven by Horsehair. Mr. Dale was to go along, and so were Phil, Dave, Ben, Buster, and Doctor Clay.

The carryall was brought around to the side entrance of the school, and Wilbur Poole was told that he was about to take a ride through the country. He walked through the hallway willingly enough, but suddenly, on turning a corner, set up a shout.

“You! you! I have found you at last!” he cried, rushing forward. “You are the one who exposed me! Base soldier that you are! You have ruined the whole army!” And in a sudden fit of passion he ran up to Job Haskers and caught him by the throat.

“Le – let g-g-go!” gasped the teacher, and tried to shake the man off. Then the others ran up, and Wilbur Poole was dragged back and handcuffed.

“Do you know that man?” asked Dave, struck by a sudden idea.

“Yes! yes!” groaned the wild man. “He exposed me! The army is lost!”

“How did he expose you?”

“He saw me do it.”

“Do what?”

“Blow up the fort-hotel. Oh, what a base villain he was to look on!” groaned the wild man, and suddenly commenced to weep.

“What is – the – er – man talking about?” stammered Job Haskers, and all saw him turn pale.

“He says you saw him blow up Sparr’s place,” said Dave, pointedly.

“It is false, absurd!” said the teacher. “I – er – I never saw the rascal before.”

“He isn’t a rascal, Mr. Haskers. He is simply out of his mind,” remonstrated Mr. Dale. “He is not accountable for his actions.”

“Well, he ought not to say such things,” returned the dictatorial teacher.

“You saw me – you know you did!” cried Wilbur Poole. “You spoiled everything! I might have blown up many forts if it hadn’t been for you!” And he shook his head dolefully.

“Take him away,” said the teacher, and turned his back on the wild man.

“Dave, I think the wild man speaks the truth!” whispered Phil to our hero.

“Possibly, Phil. I think the matter will bear investigation.”

“And if old Haskers saw the thing done, why didn’t he tell about it. Do you think that letter – ”

“It struck me that such might be the truth, Phil. But don’t say anything until you are sure.”

“He was down on us – ever since we mentioned that affair with the Widow Breen,” went on the shipowner’s son.

“I’d like to see that letter Jason Sparr got – saying we were guilty,” returned our hero. “Maybe Doctor Clay can get hold of it.”

All the way to Oakdale the boys spoke of the case in whispers. Phil was quite sure Job Haskers had seen Wilbur Poole blow up the hotel and equally sure that the dictatorial teacher had written the letter to the hotel-keeper stating he, Dave, and their chums were guilty.

“He thought we’d be locked up, or at least that we’d be sent away from the school and he would be rid of us,” said Phil. “He is growing afraid of us! Oh, if we can prove that he did it, I’ll make it hot for him!”

“If he did such a thing as that, he ought to be discharged from Oak Hall,” was Ben’s comment.

“I’ll get my father to sue him for damages,” put in Buster.

“Well, don’t be hasty,” advised Dave. “There may be some mistake – although I think not.”

At Oakdale, Wilbur Poole was turned over to the authorities, who placed him in a comfortable room attached to the lockup. As it was known that he was insane, he could not be counted a criminal, and the majority of the people pitied him and hoped that some day he would be restored to his right mind.

A telegram was sent to the Poole family, and the next day came a reply that some men would come to take Wilbur Poole away to a sanitarium. It was established beyond a doubt that he had used the dynamite to blow up the dining-room of Sparr’s hotel, and, consequently, our hero and his chums were cleared of that charge, much to their satisfaction.

“I wonder if Nat will come back?” said Shadow. “I should think he would hate to do it.”

“I don’t think he will,” said Luke.

“What will you do if he does come back, Phil?” asked Gus.

“I don’t know, Gus. Of course, I’ll let him know what I think of him for spoiling my plans for a spread. But I hate to be hard on him, because of this disgrace about his uncle.”

“Yes, that’s a terrible thing,” was Chip Macklin’s comment. “I’d hate to have a crazy man in my family.”

“Well, such things can’t be helped,” put in Polly Vane. “The Poole family will have to make the best of it.”

It was several days later when Nat Poole showed himself. Phil and Dave did not see him until later, and both were struck by the change in his appearance. He looked haggard and much older, and his arrogance was completely gone.

“Got back, eh?” said Phil, walking up to him.

“Yes,” returned the money-lender’s son, and his voice sounded hollow.

“What have they done with your uncle, Nat?” asked Dave, kindly.

“Put him in another sanitarium, where he will have the best of care and doctoring.”

“I hope he gets well.”

“We all hope that.” Nat swallowed a lump in his throat and then looked gloomily at Phil. “Well, you got the best of me,” he said, shortly.

“How the best of you?” demanded the shipowner’s son.

“I understand you found out about that spread.”

“I did.”

“Well, I’ll pay for the damage done – as soon as I get the money. I haven’t any now – Dad’s got too much to pay on Uncle Wilbur’s account.” Nat swallowed another lump in his throat. “I’m sorry I did it now, Phil, honest I am,” he went on, brokenly.

“Well, if that’s the case, let us drop the matter, Nat,” was the instant reply. “I don’t believe in hitting a fellow when he is down. You haven’t got to pay me anything. The whole thing is past and gone, – and that ends it.”

“Thank you.” Nat wanted to say something more, but his voice suddenly broke and he turned away to hide his emotion, and then walked away.

“He’s hit and hit hard,” said Roger, in a low voice.

“And you did well to drop that matter, Phil,” added Dave. “Maybe Nat has learned a lesson he won’t easily forget.”

Dave was right about the lesson Nat Poole had learned. He was deeply humiliated, both by the exposure concerning the feast and by what had been learned concerning his insane uncle, and for a long time was quite another boy.

It may be added here that at a new sanitarium, and under first-class medical treatment, a marked change came over Wilbur Poole, and in less than a year he was completely cured of his weakmindedness. With a nurse as a companion he went into the country to rest both body and mind, and later on came out into the world again as well as anybody. Strange to say, he remembered nothing of calling himself the King of Sumatra, nor of blowing up Jason Sparr’s hotel. But others did not forget about the blowing up, and the damage done had to be settled for by Mr. Aaron Poole, who was his brother’s guardian and manager of his estate for the time being.

CHAPTER XXIX

A BIT OF EVIDENCE

“Dave, what do you make of this?”

“Well, to tell the truth, Phil, I don’t think much of it.”

“You don’t think it is a clew?”

“Do you?”

“It’s rather faint, I must confess.”

“Oh, I don’t think there is anything to it,” declared Ben.

“There is something, but not a great deal,” came from Roger. “I don’t see how you are going to follow it up.”

This talk between the boys occurred after Dave, Phil, Ben, Roger, and Buster had called upon Jason Sparr and the justice and insisted on seeing the letter the hotel man had received which stated that the boys were guilty of blowing up the dining-room of his hostelry.

The hotel man had treated them kindly, for he was in dread that the boys would get their folks to sue him for damages. He had offered to pay back the money taken from Phil for the spread, and the shipowner’s son had taken the amount, to which he was justly entitled.

The examination of the letter had revealed next to nothing. It was evidently written in a disguised hand, but some of the letters looked like Job Haskers’s handwriting. In the corner of the paper some sort of an advertisement had been torn off, only the letters, “blisher” showing.

“I think those letters are part of the word, ‘Publisher,’” Dave had said. “This letter was evidently penned by somebody who used some publisher’s blank.”

“Maybe Job Haskers had those blanks,” Phil had exclaimed. “Remember, he said he published or was going to publish something once upon a time.”

The boys talked it over, but could reach no conclusion. Jason Sparr told how the letter had come to him, but this added no new light on the subject.

“Well, it was a nasty trick, no matter who played it,” said Dave.

“I sha’n’t rest until I find out who did it,” retorted Phil.

All were resolved to watch Job Haskers and also Nat Poole. But while doing this they had to turn once more to their studies. Phil, Ben, and Buster had to work harder than ever, and so did Dave, to make up for the time lost during their absence. But Doctor Clay was kind to them, and for once Job Haskers did not say anything, although he showed that he expected them to “toe the mark,” as Roger expressed it.

Several weeks slipped by, and during that time Oak Hall played several games of ball. One game of importance was won, and this was celebrated in a befitting manner. Dave attended the games, and so did Phil and Roger, but none of the three allowed the sport to interfere with their studies. All were “in the grind,” and resolved to graduate that coming June with the highest possible honors.

During those days Dave received many letters from home. His folks and friends were glad to know that the wild man had been captured and the mystery of the blowing up cleared away. Jessie sent him a very warm letter in particular, congratulating him for bringing back the runaways, and saying she hoped he would have no more trouble during the final term at Oak Hall. She added that she and all the others expected to come to the school at graduation exercises.

“Now it is up to me to make good,” said Dave, after reading this letter several times. “Dad expects it, and Jessie, and everybody, and I am not going to disappoint them.”

But it was no light task to remain at the top of the senior class, or even near it, for there were bright seniors in plenty, including the studious Polly Vane, who seemed the brightest of all. But Dave plugged away, day after day, resolved to keep at it until the very last. He was writing on his theme and had it about half finished.

“One month more and it will all be over but the shouting,” said Roger one day, as he came into the room where Dave was studying.

“All over but the shouting or weeping,” returned Phil, who was present. “I am afraid some of the fellows will do more weeping than cheering,” he added, grimly.

“Let us hope that everybody passes,” said Dave, looking up with a quiet smile.

“Such a thing has never been done,” said Ben. “Somebody is bound to drop by the wayside – I hope it isn’t yours truly,” and he sank his head again into his book.

“I think old Haskers is commencing to tighten the screws again,” said Buster. “He let up for a while, after the wild man was caught, but yesterday and to-day – phew! we caught it, didn’t we?”

“We sure did!” cried Phil. “I can’t understand that man. Why is he a teacher when he just naturally hates boys?”

“That’s a conundrum that can’t be answered,” said the senator’s son.

“Well, we won’t weep on leaving him,” remarked Luke, dryly.

“Say, that puts me in mind of a story,” said Shadow. “Once on a time a man in an auto ran into a boy carrying a cat in a basket. He didn’t hurt the boy much but he killed the cat. Says he, ‘I am sorry, my boy, and I’ll pay you for the cat. How much?’ ‘I – I don’t know,’ blubbered the boy. ‘Will two dollars do?’ asked the man. ‘Yes,’ says the boy, and took the money. ‘Were you taking the cat home?’ asked the man, when he was ready to drive on. ‘No,’ said the boy. ‘I was going to take him down to the canal and drown him!’” And there was a smile over Shadow’s yarn.

It had been a blustery day, and as night came on the wind increased in violence, until it fairly howled around Oak Hall. It tore through the branches of the oaks that gave the place its name, until it looked as if some of the trees might be broken off by the fury of the elements.

“My gracious! I never saw such a wind!” cried Roger, as he came in from a trip to the gymnasium.

“It must be fierce at sea,” returned Dave, who was with him. “I am glad I am on shore. The newspapers will tell about wrecks along the coast to-morrow.”

Nobody thought of going out that evening, and the boys put in the time studying and reading. The windows rattled, and occasionally a shutter banged, and a good night’s rest seemed out of the question.

“My, what a night for a fire!” remarked Phil, while he and his chums were undressing.

“Don’t mention such a thing!” returned Ben, with a shiver. “It would burn down everything!”

At last the boys retired. A few dropped off to sleep, but Dave was not one of them. He had studied hard and was restless, and the fury of the elements added to his nervousness.

At last he could stand it no longer to remain in bed, and got up to sit in an easy-chair for awhile.

He was just crossing the dormitory floor when there came an extra heavy blast of wind outside, followed by a crash, as one of the giant oaks standing close to the school building was broken off near the top. Then came another crash, a jingling of glass, and a sudden wild cry for help.

“Hello, something’s gone through a window!” Dave muttered. “Maybe it’s in the next room!”

He ran to the window and looked out. Just below the window-sill he saw some branches of the broken tree. He looked down and noted that the tree-top had gone into the window of the room below.

“What’s the row?” cried Roger, springing up and rubbing his eyes.

“Is the roof caving in?” asked Phil.

“Some tree-branches came down and went through the window right below us,” answered Dave. “Listen!”

All did so, and heard the cry for help repeated.

“It’s Job Haskers calling!” said the senator’s son. “He uses the room below us now.”

“Let us see if he is hurt,” suggested another of the boys.

Clad in their pajamas, the boys flocked out into the hallway, there to be joined by others. Word was passed around of what had occurred, and all made their way to the door of the instructor’s apartment. They heard him yelling for help with all his might.

The door was locked, and Dave and some others put their shoulders to the barrier and forced it open. All was dark in the room, and the wind was rushing around, sending books, pictures, and other things in all directions.

Several matches were struck, and at last a sheltered light was lit. Doctor Clay, Mr. Dale, and some of the other teachers had now arrived, and instructors and students gazed curiously at the scene before them.

The top of the tree had come straight through the big window of the apartment, crashing down on a bureau and a writing-desk, smashing both flat. Some branches of the tree rested on the side of the bed, pinning Job Haskers against the wall, as if in a cage.

“Help me! Save me!” spluttered the terror-stricken teacher. “I am being crushed to death!”

“All hands to the tree!” shouted Mr. Dale, and showed what he meant. Boys and men took hold of the tree-branches and pulled them to one side.

“Are you much hurt, Mr. Haskers?” asked Doctor Clay, kindly.

“I – I don’t know, I think so!” gasped the teacher. His face was white and he was shivering from fright.

“Can’t you crawl under the branches?” asked Mr. Dale. “Here, come this way.”

He showed how it could be done, and trembling from head to feet, the scared teacher got out from under the tree-top. His face and one shoulder were scratched, but otherwise he appeared to be unhurt. But all were forced to acknowledge that he had had a narrow escape.

“You had better take one of the spare rooms, Mr. Haskers,” said Doctor Clay, as another blast of wind swept through the room. “You cannot remain here, with this tree-top in the room. And I am afraid we shall have to saw it up to get it out again. You can be thankful that your life has been spared.”

“The furniture is smashed!” murmured the teacher.

“Never mind the furniture, so long as you are not hurt. It can be mended, and all the window needs is some new sash.”

“My things have been scattered,” grumbled the teacher. “A perfect mess!”

“Leave it until morning – you can do nothing to-night,” said the doctor; and so it was finally decided, and teachers and pupils trooped off to bed. The broken-in door was closed, but it could not be locked.

The boys had scarcely gotten back to the dormitories when Dave called Phil, Ben, Roger, and Buster to one side.

“Now is our chance,” he whispered. “Did you notice that the bureau and the writing-desk in Haskers’s room were smashed? It may not be the most honorable thing to do, but I think we are justified in looking his things over and seeing if we can’t find some clew to that letter Jason Sparr received.”

“Right you are!” declared Phil, promptly, and the others said practically the same.

They waited until the other boys had retired once more, and then, at a signal from Dave, all filed silently into the hallway again and tiptoed their way to the room below. Soon, they were inside and had the light lit, and also a lantern which belonged to Ben’s bicycle, and which he had chanced to have on hand.

Silently and with great care the boys went over the many things that had been scattered over the floor – wearing apparel, books, pads, papers, and various articles of more or less value. Presently Phil gave a low cry.

“Look at this!” And he held up several sheets of paper. In one corner were the words: