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

As they drove away from the town they could see the effects of the great wind. In some spots the road was almost bare of snow, while in others there were drifts ten and twelve feet in height. To drive through such drifts was, of course, impossible; so they had to make long detours through the surrounding fields. At such places the horses, of course, had to be driven with extra care, for no one wanted the sleigh to land in some hole or be overturned. Occasionally, when the turnout was on a dangerous slant, the girls would shriek and the boys would hold their breath; but each time Washington Bones was equal to the occasion and brought them through safely.

By noon they had covered five miles, and then they stopped to rest at a village where all procured a good hot dinner. Then they went forward once again, this time through a long patch of timber.

“If we gits through dat, we’ll be all right,” declared the colored driver.

The snow lay deep in the woods, but the horses proved equal to the occasion, and at last the timber was left behind and they came out on a ridge road where the snow was only a few inches in depth. Here they were able to make fairly good time, so that three o’clock found them almost within sight of the outskirts of Crumville.

“We’re going to make it easily,” declared Ben. But he proved to be mistaken, for a little distance farther on they ran again into the deep snow and had to pass around one drift after another, finally going clear across several fields to another highway. As a result it was well after dark before they gained the road leading past the Wadsworth jewelry works.

“Well, this looks like home, anyway,” declared Dave to Jessie, as he nodded in the direction of her father’s establishment.

“Yes, and I’m glad of it,” returned the girl. “Gracious! it seems to me that we have been on the road for a week!”

“We can be thankful that we got through so easily, Jessie. Wash is certainly some driver.”

On account of another big drift they had to pass to still another road, and this brought them finally to the street leading past the Basswood home.

“If it’s all the same to you folks, I’ll get off at my place,” announced Ben. “I suppose my father and mother are worrying about me.”

“Go ahead, Ben,” returned Dave. And then he added quickly: “I trust you find your father is better.”

With a flourish Washington Bones drew up the panting horses in front of the Basswood place. Just as Ben leaped from the sleigh the front door of the house opened and Mrs. Basswood appeared.

“Ben! Ben! is that you?” cried the youth’s parent, quickly.

“Yes, Mother,” he answered cheerily. “Don’t worry. I am all right.”

Forgetful that she had on only thin shoes, and no covering over her head or shoulders, Mrs. Basswood ran directly down to the big sleigh. She glanced over the occupants and her eyes fastened instantly on Dave.

“Dave, have you been with Ben since you went away?” she queried. “You haven’t been to our house?”

“Why certainly I haven’t been here, Mrs. Basswood,” he returned promptly.

“Then it’s true! It’s true!” she wailed, wringing her hands.

“What’s true, Mother?” demanded the son.

“The miniatures! They’re gone! They have been stolen! That young man who looks like Dave was here and took them away!”

CHAPTER XVI

HOW THE MINIATURES DISAPPEARED

“The miniatures are gone?” came from Ben Basswood in astonishment.

“Yes, Ben, gone!” and the mother wrung her hands in despair.

“Do you mean to say Ward Porton dared to come here and impersonate me and get them?” cried Dave.

“It must have been that fellow, Dave. He looked exactly like you. That is why I just asked you if you had been to our house.”

“I have been with Ben and the others since we went on our sleigh-ride,” said our hero. “This is terrible! How did it happen?”

“Come into the house and I’ll tell you all about it,” answered Mrs. Basswood. Her face was drawn with anxiety, and all could see that she was suffering keenly.

“And how is father?” questioned Ben, as the party trooped up the piazza steps and into the house.

“He isn’t so well, Ben, as he was before you went away. Oh, dear! and to think how easily I was duped!”

Dave had told Washington Bones to wait for them, and, entering the parlor of the Basswood home, the others listened to what the lady of the house had to tell.

“Your father had just had another bad turn, and the nurse and I were doing what we could for him when the door-bell rang,” she began. “I went downstairs, and there stood somebody that I thought was Dave. I asked him into the house and he at once wanted to know how Mr. Basswood was getting along.”

“When was this?” questioned Ben.

“This was two days ago, and just about noon time.”

“Two days ago!” repeated Roger. “Then Porton must have come here right after leaving the hotel in Lamont. How ever did he get here?”

“Maybe he took that train that got through from Pepsico,” answered Phil. “You remember we heard that quite a few people made that train.”

“Let us hear about the miniatures,” broke in Ben, impatiently.

“Well, he came in, as I said, and asked about Mr. Basswood’s health. Then he told me that he was in a great hurry–that a certain famous art critic had called on Mr. Wadsworth, and, having heard about the Enos miniatures, was very anxious to see them. He told me that the art critic had thought of coming over with him, but Mr. Wadsworth had said that it might disturb Mr. Basswood too much to have the miniatures examined in our house. The art critic did not want to become snowbound in Crumville, so he was only going to stay until the four o’clock afternoon train. The young man said Mr. Wadsworth wanted to know if we would allow him to take the miniatures over to the Wadsworth house, and that he would bring them back safely, either that evening or the next morning.”

“Oh, Mother! didn’t you suspect it might be a trick?” questioned Ben, anxiously. “You knew how this Ward Porton has been impersonating Dave.”

“Yes, yes, Ben, I know,” answered Mrs. Basswood, again wringing her hands. “And I should have been more careful. But you know I was very much upset on account of the bad turn your father had had. Then, too, the young man threw me off my guard by asking me if I had one of those cards which Dave had distributed among the storekeepers–the one with his autograph on it.

“I said ‘no,’ but told him I was very well acquainted with his handwriting. Then he said he would write out a card for me, adding, with a laugh, that he wanted me to be sure he was really Dave. He drew a blank card out of his pocket and turned to a table to write on it and then handed it to me. Here is the card now;” and, going to the mantelpiece, the lady of the house produced it.

“One of the cards that I left in the overcoat that was stolen!” exclaimed Dave. “He didn’t write this at all, Mrs. Basswood. That rascal stole my overcoat and some of these cards were in it. He simply pretended to write on it.”

“Well, I was sure it was your handwriting, and that made me feel easy about the fellow being you.”

“But you knew I was with Ben and the others on the sleigh-ride,” broke in Dave.

“Oh, I forgot to state that when he came in he explained that you were all stormbound at the hotel in Lamont and that, as the telephone and telegraph wires were all down, he had managed to get to Pepsico and reach Crumville on a freight train, doing this so that we and the Wadsworths would not worry, thinking the sleighing-party had been lost somewhere on the road in this awful blizzard.”

“And then you gave him the miniatures?” questioned Ben.

“I did. Oh, Ben, I know now how very foolish it was! But I was so upset! At first I thought to ask your father about it; but I was afraid that to disturb him would make him feel worse, and I knew he was bad enough already. Then, too, I knew that Mr. Wadsworth was expecting some art critics to look at the miniatures, so I concluded it must be all right. I have always known the combination of your father’s safe, so it was an easy matter for me to open it and get the miniatures out. I told the young man to be careful of them, and he told me not to worry–that the miniatures would be perfectly safe, and that Mr. Wadsworth had promised to get the critic to set a fair value on each of them.”

“Was this Ward Porton alone?” asked Laura. The girls, of course, had listened with as much interest as the boys to what the lady of the house had to relate.

“No, he came in a cutter driven by a man who was so bundled up because of the cold that I could not make out who he was. As soon as I gave him the cases containing the miniatures the young man hurried off in the cutter, stating that the sooner the critic had a chance to see the paintings the better.”

“And what happened next?” questioned Dave, as Mrs. Basswood paused in her recital.

“I went back to assist a nurse who had come in, and all that night we had our hands full with my husband. We had to call in the doctor, and he was really not out of danger until noon of the next day. I had wanted to tell him about sending the miniatures over to the Wadsworth house, but he was in no condition to be told anything, so I kept silent.”

“But didn’t you get worried when noon came and the supposed Dave didn’t return with them?” questioned the son.

“Yes, as soon as the doctor said that your father was out of danger I began to worry over the miniatures. I waited until the middle of the afternoon, and then, although it was snowing and blowing something awful, I hailed a passing man–old Joe Patterson–and asked him if he would go on an errand to the Wadsworth house. He said he would try to make it for a dollar, and so I wrote a short note to Mrs. Wadsworth, knowing that she must be at home even though her husband and Dave might be away.

“Old Patterson delivered this message, and Mrs. Wadsworth sent back word that she had not seen anything of Dave since he had gone away on the sleigh-ride, nor had she seen anything of the miniatures. She added that her husband had gone to the jewelry works, but that she would send one of the hired men after him at once and acquaint him with the situation.”

“What did you do then?” went on Ben.

“I really didn’t know what to do. Your father was so ill that the nurse and I had to give him every attention. I was waiting for the doctor to come again, but he could not get here on account of the snow-drifts. Mr. Wadsworth put in an appearance about two hours later, and then I told him just what I have told you. He declared at once that it must be a trick, stating that Dave had not been near the house since going away with all of you young folks. Mr. Wadsworth was quite put out, and wanted to know how it was that I had not been able to detect the deception.”

“Well, I must say–” commenced Ben, and then stopped short, for he could see how his mother was suffering.

“Oh, yes, Ben, I know what you were going to say,” she broke in quickly. “Having known Dave so many years I should have discovered the deception. But, as I said before, I was terribly worked up over your father’s condition. Then, too, the young man came in bundled up in an overcoat and a cap that looked exactly like those Dave wears.”

“They were mine. That fellow stole them from me,” interrupted our hero, bitterly.

“Not only that, but he had a tippet placed over his head and around his neck, and he spoke in a very hoarse voice, stating that he had caught a terrible cold while on the sleigh-ride and while coming back to Crumville on the freight train. He spoke about Mr. Basswood’s real estate business, and about Mr. and Mrs. Wadsworth and Jessie, and so many other things that we are familiar with, that I was completely deceived. Then, too, his turning over that written card to me also threw me off my guard. But I know I was very foolish, very foolish indeed!” and Mrs. Basswood’s lips trembled and she wrung her hands once again.

“What did Mr. Wadsworth do?” questioned Dave, in the midst of rather an awkward pause. He agreed with Ben that Mrs. Basswood should have recognized Ward Porton as an imposter, but he did not want to say anything that might add to the lady’s misery.

“He said he would set the authorities at work and see if he could not find Porton and his confederate. I was so bewildered that I–well, I might as well admit it–I told him that I couldn’t understand how I had been deceived, and that maybe Dave had gotten the miniatures after all.”

“Oh, Mrs. Basswood, you didn’t really mean that!” cried our hero.

“I was so bewildered I didn’t know what I meant, Dave. That young man did look so very much like you. That’s the reason, when you folks drove up to the house, I ran out to ask if you had really been here or not.”

“Have you heard anything of this Ward Porton since?” asked Roger.

“I haven’t heard anything. Whether Mr. Wadsworth has learned anything or not I do not know, for he has not been here and the storm has been so awful, with all the telephone wires down, that I could not send for news.”

“Does father know about this now?” questioned Ben.

“No, Ben, I have not had the courage to tell him,” answered the mother. “I told the doctor, and he advised that I say nothing for the present.”

“I don’t think I’d tell him,” said Dave. “I think the best thing we can do is to try to follow Porton and this fellow with him and get back the miniatures. Then it will be time enough to tell Mr. Basswood about the affair.”

As soon as they had entered the parlor the lady of the house had shut the door, so that none of the conversation might reach the sick chamber overhead. In reply to numerous questions Mrs. Basswood gave all the details as to how the rascally Porton had been able to gain possession of the miniatures.

“I think I’ll hurry up and get home,” declared Dave, presently. “I want to hear what Mr. Wadsworth has to say; and also find out what he and my folks have done towards getting on the track of Porton and his confederate.”

“That’s the talk!” exclaimed Roger. “Say! but this is the worst yet, isn’t it?” He turned to the lady of the house. “I am awfully sorry for you, Mrs. Basswood.”

“I guess we are all sorry,” broke in our hero, quickly.

“Oh, I hope they catch that Porton and put him in prison!” cried Jessie.

“That is where he belongs,” answered Dave, soberly.

CHAPTER XVII

A VAIN SEARCH

To find out what Mr. Wadsworth, as well as Dave’s father and his uncle, had done, Ben accompanied the other young folks to the jewelry manufacturer’s mansion. They found that Mr. Wadsworth had gone to business, but the other men were present and were much interested in what Dave and his chums had to relate.

“We’ve done all we could to get the authorities on the trail of Ward Porton,” announced Dave’s father; “but we have been much hindered on account of this awful blizzard. The telegraph and telephone wires are down in all directions, so it has been practically impossible to send word any great distance.”

“With such a storm it may be possible that Porton and his confederate are still in Crumville,” suggested Roger.

“I hardly think that,” said Dunston Porter. “More than likely they did everything they could to put distance between themselves and this town after they got their hands on the miniatures.”

“I suppose you know we found out that Porton’s confederate managed to get a horse and cutter from Bryson’s livery stable,” said Dave’s father.

“No, we didn’t know that!” cried Ben.

“Well, it’s true. The confederate, who gave his name as Frank Carson, said he wanted the turnout to go for a doctor. He said he had been sent by Mr. Jamison, the minister. Of course, it was all a trick and Mr. Jamison knew absolutely nothing about it.”

“Did they return the horse and cutter?”

“They did not. And Bryson is mourning the loss of a good horse. The cutter he says did not amount to so much. He would not have let the animal go out, only the fellow begged so hard, stating that it was practically a case of life or death–and he offered to pay double money for the horse’s use.”

“Were they seen at all?” questioned Ben.

“Oh, yes! A number of people who were stormbound saw them pass down the street and stop at your house. Then others saw the cutter turn in the direction of Hacklebury.”

“Of course you tried to follow?” queried Dave.

“I did that,” answered Dunston Porter. “It was tough work getting through as far as the mill town. But I managed it, and made all sorts of inquiries. Two people had seen the cutter pass the mills, but no one could give me any definite information as to which way it headed after that. You see, it was growing dark by that time, and the snow was coming down so thickly that it was next to impossible to see any great distance in any direction.”

“Well, we know they went as far as Hacklebury, and that’s something,” returned Phil hopefully.

“Yes, but it isn’t much,” came in a rather hopeless tone from Ben. “I’m afraid they’ve got away and we’ll never see them again, or the miniatures either.”

“Oh, don’t say that, Ben!” cried Laura, sympathetically. “Pictures, you know, are not like money. Porton and that rascal with him will have no easy time disposing of the miniatures.”

“I’ll tell you what they may do!” burst out Jessie, suddenly. “They may go to some big city and then send you word that they will return the miniatures provided you will pay them a certain amount of money for so doing.”

“Say! I believe that’s just what they will do!” cried Dave. “Jessie, I think you’ve struck the nail right on the head!” and he looked at the girl admiringly.

“I hope they do that–if we don’t catch them,” returned Ben. “If those miniatures are worth anything like a hundred thousand dollars, I guess my dad would be glad enough to give five or ten thousand dollars to get them back.”

“I wouldn’t give up the hunt yet, Ben,” urged Roger. “Just as soon as this awful storm is over I’d let the authorities in all the big cities, as well as the little ones, know about the theft, and then they can be on the watch for Porton and his confederate. By the way, I wonder who the confederate can be.”

“I’m sure I haven’t the least idea,” answered the real estate dealer’s son.

With the disappearance of the Basswood fortune in their minds, neither the young folks nor the grown folks could talk about much else. Laura and Jessie told the latter’s mother how they had fallen in with Dr. Renwick and his wife, and how the pair had looked after the girls during their stay at the Lamont Hotel.

“It was nice of Mrs. Renwick to do that,” said the lady of the mansion; “but it is no more than I would expect from her. She is a very estimable woman.”

It was rather hard for Dave and Roger to settle down to their studies on the following morning, but there was nothing they could do to help along the search for those who had taken the miniatures, and, as both youths were anxious to make up for lost time, they applied themselves as diligently as possible.

Mr. Ramsdell had been away, but the tutor came back that afternoon, and the two students put in a full day over their books, leaving Laura, Jessie and Phil to look after the visitors from the West.

The blizzard had now ceased entirely, and by the end of the week all the roads in the vicinity of Crumville were fairly well broken and some of the telegraph and telephone lines had been repaired. The newspapers came in from the larger cities, and it was found that the blizzard had covered a wide area of the country, extending practically from the Mississippi River to the Atlantic seaboard.

“It’s given Ward Porton and his confederate a dandy chance to get away,” was Roger’s comment.

“You’re right, Roger,” answered Dave. “And so far it would seem that they have left no trace behind them.”

From Ben it was learned that Mr. Basswood was slowly improving in health. He had asked about the miniatures, and the art critics who were to have visited Crumville on the invitation of Mr. Wadsworth.

“We couldn’t keep the news from him any longer,” said Ben. “When he asked about the pictures my mother broke down and had to confess that she had let Porton take them, thinking he was Dave. Of course, father was very much disturbed, and the doctor had to pay an extra visit and give him something to keep him quiet. I told him that all of us were doing everything we possibly could to get on the track of the thieves, and now he is resting in the hope that sooner or later the miniatures will be recovered.”

The loss of the miniatures had taken a good deal of the fun out of Ben, and when the young folks stopping at the Wadsworth mansion went out sleighing again, and for some fun skating, he begged to be excused.

“I wouldn’t take the loss too hard, Ben,” said Dave, quietly. “Remember, if the worse comes to the worst, you are just as well off as you were before you heard of this Enos fortune.”

“That is true, Dave. But it makes me mad to think that we had such a fortune as that right in our hands and then let it get away from us.”

“I suppose your mother feels dreadfully about it?”

“She certainly does, Dave. Why, she isn’t herself at all. Sometimes I think that her worrying will bring on a regular fit of sickness. She, of course, thinks that it is entirely her fault that the miniatures are gone.”

“You’ll have to do all you can to cheer her up.”

“Oh, I’m doing that! And I do what I can to cheer up my father too. Just the same, I’m mighty blue myself at times;” and the real estate dealer’s son heaved a deep sigh.

At last came the day when Belle and Cora must return to their homes in the West. On the evening before, Jessie and Laura gave a little party in their honor, which was attended by over a score of the boys and girls of Crumville. The young people played games, sang, and danced to their hearts’ content, and Mrs. Wadsworth saw to it that ample refreshments were served to all.

“Oh, I’ve had a perfectly lovely time!” declared Belle, when she and the others were on their way to the depot.

“And so have I had a lovely time,” added Cora Dartmore. “But I’m so sorry your friend lost that fortune,” she added. Ben had said good-bye over the telephone, the wire of which was once more in working order.

“If you ever do hear of those miniatures you must let us know,” went on Belle.

“We’ll be sure to do that,” answered Laura. And then the train came in, and, with a final handshake all around, and with several kisses exchanged between the girls, Belle and Cora climbed on board, Dave and Phil assisting them with their suitcases.

“I’m sorry I’m not going with you,” cried the shipowner’s son, “But I’ve promised Dave and Roger to stay a few days longer.”

“Be sure to send us a letter as soon as you get back home,” cried Jessie.

And then the train rolled out of the station and the visitors from the West were gone.

On the night before Phil took his departure the three chums had what they called a “talk-fest” in Dave’s room. They spoke about many things–of how they had first gone to Oak Hall, and of various adventures that had occurred since that time.

“The Oak Hall boys are becoming scattered,” said Phil. “I don’t suppose they’ll ever all get together again.”

“Oh, we’ll have to meet at some future graduation exercises at the Hall!” cried Dave. “I can’t think of letting such fellows as Shadow Hamilton, Buster Beggs, and Sam Day drop.”

“Right you are!” came from Roger. “If I can get there at all you can count on my going back to Oak Hall whenever there are any commencement exercises.”

“I half wish I was going into this civil engineering business with you two fellows,” continued Phil. “But I’m afraid I’m not cut out for that sort of thing. I love the sea and everything connected with ships.”

“That shows you’re a chip of the old block,” announced Dave, clapping his chum on the shoulder. “You take after your father, Phil, and I don’t think you could do better than to follow him in his shipping business.”

“If I do follow him in that business, I tell you what you’ve got to do,” announced the shipowner’s son. “Some time you’ve both got to take a nice big cruise with me.”

“That would suit me down to the shoe-tips,” returned Roger.

“It would be fine, Phil,” answered Dave. “But just at present, Roger and I have got to bone to beat the band if we want to pass that examination. You must remember that being away from home on account of that blizzard put us behind quite a good deal.”