by Roy Rockwood
CHAPTER III
BREAKING AWAY
Dave Dashaway was almost speechless. His tyrant master had struck him ina tender spot, indeed. Not that Dave had ever been foolish enough tobuild extravagant hopes on his model. It had been all guess work and anexperiment. However, his soul had been wrapped up in his labor, he hadbeen proud and pleased with his progress as an inventor, and that mean,vengeful act of the old man roused him up terribly.
“What busted that wagon?” demanded Mr. Warner, grasping Dave’s arm tillthe pain was unbearable.
Dave jerked loose, and panting and angry-faced confronted his guardianwith a look that made the old man hesitate. His lip trembled, but heheld his speech as steady as he could, as he replied:
“Dobbin got scared and ran into the ditch.”
“With your star-gazing after those airships I’ll warrant.”
This was so near the truth that Dave did not reply.
“What do you suppose will pay for all that damage to that wagon?”demanded Warner.
“I suppose my hard work will,” bluntly replied Dave.
“Your hard work—bah! It looks as if you was worked hard, fritting halfof the afternoon away, spending hours and hours on that worthless pieceof trumpery up in the barn loft. I’ve settled for good and all. Now youput up that horse, get your supper, and go to your room. You dare toleave it till I say so, and I’ll just call the sheriff up here again,and see what he says about affairs.”
This was an old-time threat of his guardian. It was worn so threadbarethat Dave did not pay much attention to it. He proceeded silently abouthis task, unhitched Dobbin, led him to his stall, and made himcomfortable for the night with feed and bedding.
As Dave came out into the yard again he made a speedy run for the wagon.His guardian had been poking about the vehicle, and had discovered thesweater roll. This he now held, turning it over and over in his hand andviewing it curiously.
“Here!” shouted Dave, “that’s mine.”
“Oh, is it?” snapped the old man, holding the bundle out of Dave’sreach. “What is it? I’m going to see.”
“I don’t mean that it belongs to me,” Dave corrected himself, “but Ifound it.”
“What is it?”
“It fell out of an airship. It lighted on Dobbin’s back. That’s whatmade him run away.”
“Fell from an airship?” repeated old Warner with a sniff of disbelief.“Romancing, hey?”
“No, I am not, I am telling you the truth,” persisted Dave.
“Hello! hello! Here, what’s this?”
Mr. Warner had opened the sweater. His miserly old eyes fairly gloatedover the pocket book and its contents. His thin cruel lips moved as ifhe was smacking them over a meal.
“You found this, you say?” he inquired.
“Yes, I did,” responded Dave brusquely, none too well pleased with theway things had turned out.
“Well, finders keepers!” chuckled the old man with a cunning laugh.
“Nobody is going to have that pocket book but the owner,” said Davestaunchly.
“I’ll arrange about that, you young insolent!” retorted Mr. Warner.
“You’ll have to, in the right way, too,” asserted Dave, who was quitenettled.
“Eh—what’s that?” shouted the old man.
“Just what I said. If you will look at that medal in that pocket book,you will find that the owner’s name is on it. It is ‘Robert King’. Allyou’ve got to do is to send his property back to him. I happen to knowthat he is at Fairfield now, and a letter directed there would reachhim.”
“Say,” blurted out old Warner, “I know what to do, I guess, about my ownbusiness.”
“This is my business, too,” insisted Dave. “I found that property, andI’m honest enough to want to get it right back to the man who lost it.”
“You get into that house quick as you can, and mind your own businessand keep your mouth shut, or I’ll make it pretty interesting for you,”bawled the old man.
Dave closed his lips tightly. He had gone through a pretty tryingordeal. It had made him almost desperate. It had come so thick and fast,one indignity after another, that Dave had not found time to break down.His just wrath over the destruction of the model was lessened by theappropriation of the sweater bundle.
“There’s something I won’t stand,” declared Dave, as he made his wayinto the house. “I know who that property belongs to, and if Mr. Warnertries any tricks, I’ll expose him.”
Dave felt sure that his tyrant master would not do the square thing. Hemight not dare to keep the pocket book and its contents and say nothingabout it. Dave felt sure, however, that in any event Mr. Warner wouldnot give it up without a big reward. This humiliated Dave, somehow, onaccount of his father and his own liking for aeronautics. Dave felt morethan kindly to one of that profession, and would have been glad toreturn the lost pocket book for nothing.
Dave glanced into the kitchen as he passed its open door. The scraps offood on the uncovered deal table did not at all appeal to his appetite.Besides that, he was too stirred up to care to eat. He went up to hislittle room in the attic and sat down at the open window to think.
Dave felt that a crisis in his affairs had been reached. His mind ranback rapidly over his past life. He could find nothing cheering in itsince the time he was removed from a pleasant boarding school upon thedeath of his father. The latter had been traveling in foreign parts atthe time giving lectures on aeronautics, of which science he was anardent student.
Since then old Silas Warner had led his young ward a very wretched life.Several letters had come addressed to Mr. Dashaway. These Mr. Warner hadnot shown to Dave, but had told him that they amounted to nothing ofimportance. Dave had noticed that these, with some other papers, hisguardian kept in a strong manilla envelope in his desk.
Dave had known nothing but neglect and hardship with Silas Warner in thepast. He saw no prospects now of any betterment of his condition. Afterwhat had happened during the day the man would be more unbearable thanever.
“I’ve got to do it,” murmured Dave, after a long period of painfulthought. “My life will be spoiled if I stay here. I’ll never learnanything, I’ll never amount to anything. There is only one way out.”
Dave got up and paced the floor of the darkened room in greatlydisturbed spirit.
“I’ll do it,” he added a moment later, with firmness and decision. “I’llbe true to my name—it’s a ‘dash away’ for freedom. Yes, I’ve made up mymind. I’m going to run away from home—if this can be called home.”
Old Warner had told Dave to go to his room and remain there untilfurther orders. In his present state of mind, however, Dave cared littlefor that. He was so excited that the air of the close low-ceilinged roofroom seemed stifling to him. The lad got out through the window andclambered down the remains of an old vine trellis without trouble. Toomany times at night when he could not sleep had he stolen out thussecretly to work on his pet model in the barn loft, to miss his footingnow. Dave reached the ground, went over to the pasture lot and threwhimself down upon the grass. His hands under his head, staring up at thestars, he rested and reflected.
The more he thought the more was he resolved to leave Brookville. Hewould leave it that night, too, he decided. He knew that when hisguardian discovered his absence he would raise a great hue and cry andtry to find him, just as he had done before.
“I’ll move as soon as he goes to bed,” planned Dave. “That will give mea safe start away from Brookville.”
Dave decided to regain his room by the route he had left it. As he againneared the house, however, he noticed a light in the sitting room whichhis guardian usually occupied evenings. As Dave made out Silas Warnerand observed what he was about, he glided to a thick bush near the openwindow and peered curiously through its branches.
Dave saw Mr. Warner seated at the big cumbrous desk. He had thrown thesweater on the floor at his side. The pocket book
lay open on the desk,and its contents were spread out before their engrossed possessor.
The old man was viewing the collection with gloating eyes. He took upthe badge and weighted it in his hands as if thinking of it only as toits value as gold. For nearly ten minutes Dave watched his miserlyguardian finger over the various articles. He knew that it was in hismind to keep them if he could.
Finally old Warner restored all the articles to the pocket book. He tooka small box from a drawer in the desk. Dave had seen it before. AsWarner opened it, Dave again caught sight of the manilla envelope whichhe knew held papers referring to his dead father.
The old man locked up the desk and carried the box to a corner of theroom. Here he leaned over, and Dave saw him lift up a small section ofthe floor. When it was set back in place the box had disappeared.
A new train of thought came into Dave’s mind as he noticed all this. Henow knew the secret hiding place of his miserly old guardian. He watchedthe latter take up the lighted candle and go over to the wing room ofthe house where he slept. Mr. Warner reached out of its window andpulled in a rope, resting its end on the floor directly beside his bed.
This rope ran out to an old swing frame which held a bell of pretty goodsize. It had once belonged to a school house, but had got cracked, andWarner had got it for nothing. He had never had occasion to ring it. Hehad told his neighbors that he had put it up for protection. He was alonely old man, he had said. Some one might try to rob him. If so, hecould alarm his neighbors and call them to the rescue. This had givenrise to the rumor that the old man must have some hidden wealth aboutthe place. To a stranger, however, the dilapidated old place would notindicate this.
Dave waited till his guardian had retired, then he got back to his room,moving about cautiously. Dave owned only the rather shabby suit he wore,but he had some handkerchiefs and the like, and these he gatheredtogether and made up into a small parcel. Then he sat down to wait. Itwas in order for Dave to depart by the window route if he so chose, andno one the wiser. Dave, however, had something further to do before heleft the inhospitable roof of his guardian.
It was not until two hours later that Dave ventured to leave his room.He stowed the parcel containing his few small personal effects under hiscoat and took a piece of unlighted candle in his hand. Then he gropedhis way cautiously down the rickety stairs.
In a few minutes Dave was in the sitting room. He had listened at theentrance to the wing room in which his guardian slept. He had heardSilas Warner breathing regularly, and was sure that he was asleep. Davecarefully closed the door of the sitting room opening out into thehallway. He went to the corner of the room where he had seen hisguardian stow away the little box.
A chair stood over the spot, and this Dave moved out of place. He litthe candle, and by poking with his hand soon located a loose section ofthe flooring about two feet square.
“I’ve found it,” breathed Dave softly, and he lifted the square from itsplace.
Below showed the usual space found between beams. Lying across the lowerboards was the box he was after. Dave lifted it out. He found that itwas secured with a small padlock.
“I don’t like to do it,” mused Dave, “but there is no other way.”
He found little difficulty in wrenching the padlock, hasp and all, outof place, for the fastening was of tin, and flimsy. Then Dave opened thecover of the box.
He took out the pocket book belonging to the aeronaut. Then he liftedout the manilla envelope.
“I don’t suppose there’s anything but old worthless papers in thisenvelope,” he decided, “but it belongs to me, if anybody. The mischief!”
Dave sprang to his feet in dismay. He had tilted the square of flooringagainst the chair near by. Some way accidentally his hand had struck it,and it tipped over flat with quite a clang. Trying to stop it, Dave fellagainst the chair. This went over with an echoing crash.
Dave knew that the windows were double locked. If he had disturbed oldWarner, his only route of escape was through the single doorway of theroom and down the hallway. So quickly did he run for the door that hehad not time to blow out the candle.
Dave opened the door with a violent push. Once out in the hall heglanced anxiously across it.
“Too bad—too late,” he murmured, as his eye fell upon his guardian justcoming out of his room. Against the candle light, Silas Warner must haverecognized Dave. The latter was just stowing the manilla envelope in hispocket, and the old man must have seen that, too.
“Hi, there! Stop! What are you up to?” bellowed old Warner.
Dave ran down the hall at the top bent of his speed. He knew the kitchendoor was bolted, and risked no chance of being stopped by halting toopen it. Indeed, he dodged down a step into a store room, the window ofwhich was always open. He was through its sash space with a bolt and asquirm in a jiffy.
Making sure that he had lost nothing in his flight, Dave put across theyard. The last he saw of his alarmed and excited guardian was hisfrowsled grey head stuck through the buttery window, bawlingfrantically:
“Stop him! stop thief! stop thief!”
Dave crossed the yard and the meadow in swift bounds. He was sorry thathis intended flight had been discovered, and was satisfied that oldWarner would proceed to make a great noise about it very promptly.However, now started on his runaway career, Dave resolved that he wouldnot turn back.
“A good swift run, and I’ll get safe and sound out of the neighborhood,”he told himself. “Of course Mr. Warner will start a chase after me, butI’ll get a lead they can’t beat. Hello!”
Dave Dashaway prepared for a new spurt of speed as a wild alarm rang outon the still night air.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
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