Dave Porter and His Double: or, The Disapperarance of the Basswood Fortune

“It ought to be if it mentions us,” answered Dave, with a boldness that took away much of the conceit.

“Say, you haven’t let me tell that story!” interrupted Shadow, with a disconcerted look on his thin face. “Now, as I was saying, there was once a–”

“Not now, Shadow!”

“You can tell it on the way to New York!”

“Provided the conductor will give you written permission.”

“Not much!” returned the would-be story-teller. “If I can’t tell that story now, I’m going to be mum forever.” He suddenly looked at Dave. “What is taking you to New York?” he inquired.

“I’m on my way to Texas,” answered Dave, and then told his former classmates of how he and Roger had passed the preliminary examination as civil engineers and of how they were now going to take up field work in the Lone Star State.

“Say, that’s great!” exclaimed Buster, in admiration. “I wish I was going to do something like that.”

“So do I,” added Luke, while Shadow nodded in assent.

The other lads had many questions to ask, and in return told Dave much about themselves. In the midst of the conversation the express train for the metropolis rolled in and the four youths lost no time in clambering aboard. They found their seats with ease, and quickly settled themselves.

“That’s a fierce loss that the Basswoods sustained,” remarked Luke. “I read all about it in the newspapers. That fellow, Ward Porton, must be a peach.”

“I should say he was a lemon so far as Dave was concerned,” said Buster, with a slow wink of his eye.

“Speaking of peaches puts me in mind of another story,” cried Shadow. “A man had a tree in his garden and–”

“Oh, Shadow, why this infliction!”

“Have we really got to listen?”

“How much will you pay us if we keep still until you have finished?”

“Yes, you’ve got to listen, and I won’t pay you a cent for it, either,” retorted the would-be story-teller. “This is a short one. A man had a fruit-tree in his garden, and he told a friend of his that he got three kinds of fruit from it. His friend didn’t believe it, so he told his friend: ‘Why, it was dead easy. I went out in the garden to pick an apple. I picked one, and then I picked a pair. One was no good, but another was a peach.’”

“Wow! listen to that!”

“Shadow must have had a peach of a time getting up that story,” commented Luke, evidently feeling himself justified.

“Good thing there are not a pair of them,” came from Dave.

“Such stories are the fruits of idleness,” was added by Buster, solemnly.

“Oh, don’t you poke fun at that joke,” retorted Shadow. “It’s a good deal better than any you could get up.”

Dave learned that Luke Watson’s folks were now living in New York City, and that Luke had invited Buster and Shadow to spend a week with him.

“It’s too bad you can’t stop off, at least for a day or two,” said Luke to Dave. “It would suit me down to the ground to have you join us.”

“And I’d like first-rate to do it, Luke,” answered our hero. “But I promised to be in Washington by to-morrow, and that means that I’ve got to take the midnight train from New York City.”

“Well, we’ll get down to New York by three o’clock this afternoon. That will give us nine hours in which to have a good time. You’ve got to come up to our house for dinner,” continued Luke; and so it was arranged.

“I was wondering what I would do with myself this evening,” said our hero. “I don’t mind going around the city in the daylight, but after it is dark it is rather hard for a stranger to put in his time, unless he wants to go to some kind of show.”

“We might all go to a moving-picture show after dinner,” suggested Buster. “I’ll blow you to front seats,” he added generously.

“You’ll have to make it a seat farther back than that for me,” put in Shadow. “A front seat at a moving-picture show is no good,” and at this there was a general snicker.

“We’ll see about the show after we have had dinner,” said Luke.

The time on the train was spent in talk about Oak Hall and their numerous classmates, many of them now well scattered throughout the States.

“Polly Vane has gone into business, so I hear,” announced Luke. “He’s in real estate, and in spite of the fact that he’s a regular dude they tell me he is doing very well.”

“Well, Polly ought to do well,” answered Dave, who had not forgotten that the student who acted so very girlishly had at graduation stood as high in his percentage as our hero himself had done.

“And they say Chip Macklin is doing pretty well, too,” put in Buster, referring to a small lad who had once been a toady to Gus Plum, the Hall bully.

“Well, Plum is doing well,” returned Dave. “I’m glad he reformed. Evidently there was much better stuff in him than there was in Jasniff and Merwell.”

“Oh, Jasniff and Merwell were thoroughly bad eggs,” announced Luke. “I’ll never forget, Dave, how Jasniff once tried to brain you with an Indian club.”

“Say, speaking about bad eggs, puts me in mind of another story,” cried Shadow. “A lady went into a store and asked the store-keeper’s clerk how much the eggs were. The clerk–Now don’t interrupt me, because this isn’t a very long story,” pleaded the would-be story teller. “The clerk was only a small boy, and he hadn’t been in the business very long, so he told the lady, ‘The really fresh eggs are fifty cents, and the almost fresh eggs are forty cents, and those that ain’t so fresh are thirty-five cents, and the rotten eggs are thirty cents.’”

“Oh, Shadow! what a story!”

“Haven’t you got any fresher than that?”

“You can’t make anybody believe any such yarn as that.”

“That story is absolutely true,” returned the story teller, soberly. “If you don’t believe it, you come down to the town of Necopopec, Maine, and on the principal street of the town I’ll show you the town pump where that boy used to get a drink three times a day,” and at this sally there was a general laugh.

At last the train rolled into the Grand Central Terminal at Forty-Second Street, New York City, and, alighting, the lads made their way through the spacious depot to the crowded thoroughfare beyond. Here taxicabs were numerous, and the youths piled into one, leaving the driver to look after their suit-cases. Dave’s trunk had been checked through to Washington.

Luke’s family lived in the vicinity of Central Park, and it did not take the chums long to reach the home. Here they were greeted by Mrs. Watson, Luke’s father being away on business. Then Luke took the lads up to his own room, where all proceeded to make themselves at home.

At a little after five Mr. Watson came in to greet them, and about an hour later all sat down to a sumptuous dinner, to which it is needless to say each of the boys applied himself diligently.

“I see by the papers that they are showing a very fine war spectacle at one of the photo-play houses,” announced Luke. “How would you fellows like to go and see it?”

This was agreeable to all, and a little later the chums left the Watson house to go to the theater, which was about ten blocks farther downtown.

“If we get there by half-past seven, we can take in the first show of the evening,” announced Luke. “That will give us a chance to do some other things before it is time for Dave to catch his train.”

The war spectacle proved very entertaining to all the youths, and they were rather sorry when it came to an end. Then Buster proposed that they walk down the Great White Way, as a certain portion of Broadway has been designated.

The boys had been walking for the best part of half an hour, taking in various sights, including the wonderfully illuminated signs, when suddenly, as they passed through a rather dense crowd, Shadow plucked Dave by the arm.

“What is it?” questioned our hero, quickly, for he saw that the former story-teller of Oak Hall was much excited.

“That fellow we just passed, Dave!” cried Shadow.

“What of him?”

“Why, he looked just like you!”

“You don’t mean it!” gasped Dave, and came to a sudden halt. “If he looked like me it must have been Ward Porton!”

CHAPTER XXI

DAVE IN WASHINGTON

“Ward Porton!” exclaimed the other youths in a chorus.

“Let us go after him,” went on Dave. “Shadow, which way did he go?”

“Come on, I’ll show you,” answered the story-teller, and led the way through the crowd as well as he could.

As already mentioned, the crowd at this particular spot on the Great White Way was dense, and the chums had all they could do to force their way along, often elbowing people in a way that was far from polite. Presently they gained a street corner where the pedestrians were being held up by the traffic flowing the other way.

“There he is!” exclaimed Shadow, suddenly, pointing with his hand.

Looking in the direction indicated, Dave saw a well-known form. It was indeed Ward Porton, still wearing the cap and overcoat he had stolen from our hero.

“Hi there, Porton! Stop!” cried Dave, and made a dash for the rascal.

As his hand fell on Porton’s arm the other swung around in a startled way. Then, as he caught sight of Dave and his friends, he gave a sudden duck and crowded in between several ladies standing in front of him. The next instant he was dashing out into the street in the midst of a perfect maze of automobiles and wagons.

“I’m going after him!” cried Dave to his chums, and did his best to follow. But an automobile got in his way, and then a large express wagon, and before our hero could get around these, Porton had gained the opposite sidewalk and was darting through the crowd with great rapidity, paying scant attention to those he met and hurling one little girl off her feet and into the gutter.

“Stop! What’s the matter here?” cried a voice to Dave; and the next moment a policeman came up beside him.

“That fellow ahead! I want to catch him!” burst out our hero. “He’s a thief!”

“Where?”

“There he goes, straight into the crowd!” answered Dave, and then hurried on once more, with his chums trailing behind him.

The chase so suddenly taken up did not, however, prove long. By the time Dave and his friends reached the next corner of the crowded thoroughfare Ward Porton had disappeared once more and none of the youths could tell what direction he had taken.

“I don’t know what you’re going to do, Dave,” said Luke, sympathetically. “He may have gone ahead and then again he may have turned to the right or to the left.”

“I don’t believe you’ll be able to locate him in such a crowd as this,” put in Buster. “What a shame that you weren’t able to get your hands on him!”

“I did have one hand on him, but he slipped away like a greased pig,” announced Dave, dolefully.

“Say, speaking about greased pigs puts me in mind of a story,” put in Shadow. “Once there were two boys–” and then, as his chums gave him a sudden cold look, he continued: “Oh, pshaw! what’s the use of trying to tell a story just now. I know Dave would rather find this fellow Porton.”

“You’re right there, Shadow!” answered our hero, quickly. “I’d rather get my hands on him than listen to a thousand stories.”

Dave was unwilling to let the chase end there; so he and his friends spent the remainder of the evening walking up and down Broadway, and traversing several blocks of the side streets in the vicinity where Ward Porton had disappeared. But it was all of no avail. The rascal had made good his escape. Then all walked around to the nearest police station, and told the authorities of the affair, so that the detectives of the city might be on the watch for the criminal.

His chums insisted upon seeing Dave off on his journey to Washington, and before going to the Pennsylvania Railroad Station on Seventh Avenue the youths treated themselves to a lunch. During the meal Shadow was allowed to tell several of his best stories, and Luke was called on to hum over the song he had composed in honor of their days at Oak Hall.

“That’s a fine song, Luke, and you ought to have it published,” declared Dave, heartily. “I believe every lad who ever went to Oak Hall would want a copy of it.”

It may be mentioned here that later on Luke Watson did have the composition brought out by a metropolitan music publisher. He dedicated it to the senior class of which he had been a member, and the song sold very well.

Dave had already secured his berth on the train, so that when his friends left him he lost no time in retiring. But the novelty of the journey, and his thoughts concerning Ward Porton, kept him awake for some time. Finally, however, he went sound asleep and did not awaken until some time after the Capitol City was reached.

Senator Morr and his family were staying at the New Willard Hotel in Washington, and Dave soon found a street car that passed the door of that place. When he entered the hotel, he found Roger in the lobby waiting for him.

“I thought you’d come right up,” cried the senator’s son. “I told the folks I’d meet you. Of course, you haven’t had any breakfast? The folks will be down in a little while and then we’ll all go to breakfast together.”

Roger was much interested to learn that Dave had met three of their old chums, and wanted to know all that had been said and done. The fact that our hero had also seen Ward Porton was a surprise.

“What a shame you didn’t capture him, Dave! Maybe you might have got on the track of that Basswood fortune.”

“Just what I was thinking, Roger. I did my best, but you know what a New York crowd is. Porton slipped through it and disappeared almost like magic.”

Senator Morr and his wife greeted Dave warmly. The four had breakfast in a private dining-room, and during the course of the meal the senator had much to say regarding the departure of his son and Dave for Texas.

“I know one or two of the men connected with the Mentor Construction Company,” said the senator. “They are very fine fellows, and I think they will see to it that you are treated rightly.”

“Dad, of course, has some influence with them,” broke in Roger, “being a senator, you know.”

“I don’t use my influence that way, Roger,” answered the father, shortly. “You must not expect special favors because I happen to be a United States senator. I expect you to make your way on your own merit.”

“And that’s what I’m going to do,” answered the son, promptly.

“I do hope both of you boys keep out of trouble,” said Mrs. Morr. “You are going close to the border of Mexico, and there has been fighting going on along that border for many months.”

“We are not going down there to get into any fights,” answered Dave. “We are going down there to attend strictly to business. If the Mexicans will only leave us alone, we’ll leave them alone.”

Dave and Roger had at first thought to go to Texas by the way of New Orleans and Houston, but after some thought they decided to take the journey by the way of St. Louis, Kansas City and San Antonio. Their train was to leave on the following morning, so that the two youths had a whole day practically to themselves.

“Now I am in Washington I’d like to take a look around,” said Dave.

“I knew you’d like to do that, so I got everything ready beforehand,” announced his chum. “We’ll spend to-day in sightseeing.”

They visited the Capitol and the White House, and numerous other buildings, and almost before they were aware it was evening. Then Mrs. Morr insisted upon it that her son retire early, knowing what a hard journey was before him.

The senator’s son had received word that the Mentor Construction Company had opened a temporary office at San Antonio, and the two youths were to report there before proceeding farther. The engineering corps to which they had been assigned was on the point of moving from one place to another, and they were to get definite instructions at San Antonio regarding their further movements.

“Well, good-bye and good luck to you!” said the senator, who came down to the depot with them to see them off.

“Good-bye, Dad,” answered Roger, shaking hands warmly. Dave, too, shook hands with his chum’s father.

Then, in a moment more, the two youths were off on their long journey to Texas.

“This kind of traveling is rather different from what the pioneers put up with,” remarked Roger, as the two settled themselves in their comfortable seats, they having a whole section of the sleeper to themselves. “Think of what it must have been to travel thousands of miles in a boomer wagon behind a team of mules or oxen!”

“Yes, Roger, and think of being on the lookout constantly for unfriendly Indians and wild beasts,” added Dave. “I’ll tell you, when you come to consider the luxuries we enjoy these days we have much to be thankful for.”

The day’s run was a pleasant one, and the youths enjoyed it greatly. They spent the time in chatting about the prospects and in gazing at the swiftly-moving panorama to be seen from the car window.

“It’s a pity we have to sleep when there is so much to see,” was Dave’s comment, as, after having passed through Cincinnati, it grew time to retire. “I’d like very much to see what this section of the country looks like.”

The following morning found them crossing the Mississippi River. They passed through St. Louis, and then the train headed for Kansas City, where they were to change for Fort Worth and San Antonio.

The train for San Antonio proved to be much less crowded than the other had been. As before, the youths had a section to themselves, and none of the sections near them was occupied. But when, on the following day, the train stopped at a way station several passengers got aboard, including a man who took the section opposite to that occupied by our friends.

This man was a tall, heavy-set and red-faced individual, having reddish hair and a heavy reddish mustache. He looked the youths over rather coldly, and then, throwing himself down in his seat, proceeded to read a newspaper.

“Doesn’t look like a very friendly fellow,” whispered Roger to Dave. “I was hoping we might meet somebody who would warm up a little and tell us something about this part of the country.”

“You’ve got to go slow in making friends out in a strange place like this,” answered Dave.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Dave,” was the quick reply. “My father tells me that folks in the West and Southwest are usually very friendly. We found them so on our way to Star Ranch.”

The boys continued to talk of the prospects ahead, and during the conversation the Mentor Construction Company was mentioned several times. Then Dave noticed that the burly man opposite had dropped his newspaper and was looking at them curiously. Finally the man arose and stepped across the aisle.

“Did I hear you young fellows speaking about the Mentor Construction Company?” he asked, not unpleasantly.

“You did,” answered Dave.

“Are you connected with that concern?” went on the man.

“We are going to work for them,” answered Roger. “We have just been appointed to the engineering department.”

“You don’t say!” cried the man in surprise. “I’m with that company myself. My name is William Jarvey. What is yours?”

The boys told him, and all shook hands. Then, as Roger crossed over to sit down beside Dave, the man sank down in the seat opposite.

CHAPTER XXII

IN TEXAS AT LAST

“So you are going to join our engineering department, eh?” queried William Jarvey. “Do you know anybody in that department?”

“We don’t know any one down here,” answered Dave. “We are utter strangers. We obtained our positions through a Mr. Ramsdell, who was our tutor.”

“Oh, I see.” The man had been looking rather sharply at Dave. “May I ask where you come from?”

“We come from New England. I live in a town called Crumville. My friend here is the son of United States Senator Morr.”

“Oh, indeed!” William Jarvey showed increased interest. “The son of a United States senator, eh? Well, that ought to help you a great deal. The Mentor Construction Company often has to ask the government for favors, you know,” and he laughed lightly.

“I’m not going to trade on the fact that my father is a United States senator,” remarked Roger, somewhat shortly. “I am going to make my own way.”

“And I guess you will. You look like a pretty bright young man,” returned William Jarvey, hastily.

“Are you a civil engineer?” questioned Dave.

“Oh, no! No such luck for me. I am connected with the bookkeeping and the blue-print department. I wish I were a first-class civil engineer. I might be earning a much larger salary;” and the man drew down his mouth as he spoke. Evidently he was a fellow who was not at all satisfied with his position in life.

“We are to report to a Mr. Perry Watson at San Antonio,” explained Roger. “He is to tell us where to go and what to do.”

“Perry Watson, eh?” and the man scowled and showed his teeth in an unpleasant manner.

“What’s the matter–don’t you like Mr. Watson?” asked Dave.

“Not much. Very few of the men do. He’s terribly sharp on watching everything a man does.”

“I sincerely hope we don’t have any trouble with him,” was Roger’s comment. “We’d like to start right, you know.”

“Well, you’ll have to watch yourselves pretty closely,” announced William Jarvey.

The talk then became general, and the burly man told the youths much about the work being done by the Mentor Construction Company. It seemed that there were four gangs in the field, two operating south of San Antonio, and the others to the westward.

“It’s more than likely you’ll be sent to the west,” he said. “I think the gangs in the south have all the helpers they need. I am going west myself; so if you are sent that way perhaps we’ll see more of each other.”

“Perhaps,” answered Dave. He was not particularly elated over the thought, for there was something about William Jarvey which did not appeal to him. The man was evidently very overbearing and had an exceedingly good opinion of himself.

“I’m going back to have a smoke,” said the man, presently. “Will you come and join me?”

“Thank you, but neither of us smokes,” answered Roger.

“What! not even cigarettes?”

“No,” returned Dave.

“Humph! I don’t see how you can resist. I would feel utterly lost without a cigar. Well, I’ll see you later.” And thus speaking William Jarvey took himself off.

“I sincerely trust the rest of the men we meet will be of a better sort than that fellow,” remarked Roger. “I don’t like his make-up at all.”

“I agree with you, Roger,” answered Dave. “He looks like a chap who would be very dictatorial if he had the chance–one of the kind who loves to ride over those under him.”

“I can’t get over the way he kept looking at you, Dave. He acted as if he had met you before and was trying to place you.”

“I noticed he did look at me pretty closely a number of times,” answered our hero. “But I took it that he was only trying to size me up. You know some strangers have that habit.”

“Well, he didn’t look at me that way,” continued the senator’s son. “I believe he was doing his best to try to place you.”

“I wish I had asked him where he was from. Maybe that might have given us some sort of clue to his identity.”

“Let’s ask him if we get the chance.”

On the journey to San Antonio they had an opportunity to speak to William Jarvey a number of times, and once they sat at the same table with him in the dining-car. When asked where he came from, he replied rather evasively that he had lived for a great number of years in the Northwest, but that he had left that section of the country to try his fortunes in Mexico.

“I was interested in the mines down there, and then I got mixed up in one of their revolutions and got shot in the leg,” he added. “That was enough for me; so I crossed the Rio Grande into Texas, and by luck got the position I am now holding with the Mentor Company.”

“Are the Mexican revolutionists interfering at all with the work of the construction company near the border?” questioned Dave.

“Not very much. One gang, that was working on one of the railroad bridges not many miles from the Rio Grande, had a little run-in with some raiders who came across the river to steal cattle. They helped the ranchmen drive the raiders away, and in the fight one fellow was shot through the shoulder.”

“Well, that was trouble enough!” cried Roger. “It’s more than I’d like to see.”

“That’s right,” returned Dave. “We didn’t come down to fight the Mexicans. We came down to become civil engineers.”