Read Ebook: The Rambler Club's motor car by Sheppard W Crispin William Crispin

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Ebook has 1571 lines and 38097 words, and 32 pages

"Time will tell, Vic," responded the stout boy.

With a snort of disgust, Victor turned on his heel.

"This ought to teach the big Indian a jolly good lesson," he muttered, fiercely. "After a while he'll be singing a mighty different tune."

When Victor Collins, refreshed by an ample repast, returned to the hotel he received his third surprise of the day.

TOM AT THE WHEEL

The moment the door had closed behind his friends Tom Clifton prepared to make good use of the time.

"Now I'll be able to finish it up in great shape," he said softly to himself.

He listened, his face wearing a very serious expression, until their cheery voices were stilled by distance, then drawing a voluminous collection of papers from his inside pocket he spread them out carefully on the center table and set to work.

Evidently the problems which confronted him were of a very profound and complex nature. The lines on his forehead deepened; occasionally he uttered a half sigh, as some particularly knotty point was encountered; then, losing patience, he rose to his feet and walked toward an armchair near the window.

Picking up a book, the well-worn appearance of which indicated much usage, he opened it at random and began to read a description of the deltoid muscle, its origin, insertion and various functions.

But a treatise on anatomy, just then, couldn't hold Tom's attention long.

When the obstinate twenty-second article was finally conquered the lad breathed a sigh of relief, and a good-natured grin replaced the scowl on his face, as he began gathering the loose sheets of paper together.

"It's a dandy piece of work, all right--bet Dave'll think so, too," he reflected. "We're going to make some stir in the Kingswood High this term."

Tom busied himself for a few moments in replacing his belongings in a suit case. This done, he glanced at his watch once more.

"It's most time for 'em now," he murmured. "Crickets! I'm anxious to hop into that car again."

Thoughts of the pleasant journey before them and the sensation which his by-laws were certainly bound to create were in his mind to the exclusion of all else, but, as time passed by, the former steadily gained the ascendency.

"What's keeping those chaps, I wonder?" Tom, in his impatience, paced the floor. "They ought to have been here before this."

The next quarter of an hour was really a distressing period to the tall boy. Every step in the corridor, every voice which penetrated into the room, made his heart beat with hope. But as each faded away it left him annoyed, even angry.

"Never knew Bob Somers to fail in his word before," he repeated several times.

Unable to stand the dreary task of waiting any longer Tom slapped on his cap, and, in a moment, was down-stairs at the door.

He looked searchingly along the street in both directions. But there were no familiar faces in the ever-passing throng.

"Hang it all," he growled. "If we were in Chicago I might understand it, because there's a fire every few minutes, or some kind of a rumpus going on. But here!--Why don't those chaps come back?"

No answer was suggested by the mental query which insistently propounded itself; so, finally, with a last long look and grunt of disapproval, Tom climbed back to Bob Somers' room. The book on anatomy reappeared, and the student, with an air of deep injury, once more began to read.

It was, at length, fully fifteen minutes beyond the time appointed for the yacht to leave.

Suddenly Tom sat bolt upright. He seemed as startled as though some one had clapped him unexpectedly on the shoulder.

Could it be possible?

He drew a long, deep breath. A dreadful suspicion had entered his head. He tried to cast it off with scorn; but, somehow, the thought would not down. Were the boys testing his courage? Had they actually gone away with Victor on the motor yacht? Did the crowd wish to find out how he stood in relation to the "flopper" class? And yet it wasn't like honest, straightforward Bob Somers to act in such a way.

The precious book of anatomy fell unheeded to the floor, as Tom restlessly paced up and down, while conflicting ideas chased each other swiftly through his brain.

"I don't--can't believe it," he said, aloud. "Of course not! What a silly idiot I am. The crowd'll be here soon. Mustn't let 'em think they had me aeroplaning." He smiled grimly as an idea struck him. "I'll just sprint down to the wharf and settle it."

So Tom, with unseemly haste, again dashed down-stairs, and did almost "sprint" through the streets in the direction of the river. It was quite a long distance, too, but probably few had ever covered it in so short a time.

The moment his eyes rested on the familiar pilings at which Captain Bunderley's motor yacht was usually moored he stopped short and uttered a low whistle. His suspicions were not without foundation, after all.

The "Fearless" had gone.

Yes, the "Fearless" had gone! There could be no doubt about it. Tom Clifton felt a strange variety of emotions assail him. He eagerly scanned the river, half expecting to see the yacht somewhere on its surface. But his search was in vain.

"Well, well! Victor must have actually managed to pull off that trick," he growled.

Smarting with indignation, the lad covered the space between him and the end of the wharf in record time.

A small, stout man sitting on a barrel looked up as he approached.

"Hey," began Tom, "were you here this morning when that motor yacht left?"

The stout man, with a whimsical light in his eye, was gazing hard into the boy's face.

"Yer hat is a great distance up from the ground, me lad," he remarked, casually. "Kin ye see acrost to the lake from there?"

The stout man stopped him.

"I were, for sure," he answered, emphatically.

"See any boys on board?"

"I did--sure ag'in."

"Been gone long?"

"Yes, a right smart spell. Runned off without yer, did they, mate? Some people is mean enough for anythin'."

Tom was too angry and disturbed to make any reply to this observation.

"My, but wouldn't I like to punch that little Victor," he thought. "I didn't think it of Bob Somers; or Dave, either. Looks as though the whole bunch is trying to have a big joke at my expense. Hey?"

The little man was speaking again.

"Ye oughter be real glad ye weren't took along, mate," he remarked, pleasantly. "Ye look kinder peart now; but a right smart spell o' tossin' about out there 'ud take that out o' you. I always says, give me seasoned water every time."

"Seasoned water?" queried Tom.

"Sure, mate; some as has plenty o' salt in it. I've sailed on both kinds, an' I know."

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