The Launch Boys' Adventures in Northern Waters - Edward Sylvester Ellis (bookreader TXT) 📗

Chester's tongue to ask in view of this conclusion why Nora had knocked on their door, but he thought best to refrain.

"Whisht!" whispered Mike; "let's go to the parlor, where we have the moonlight to help us."

Walking on tiptoe and as silent as so many cats, the party moved through the hall to the front room. The straining ears heard nothing more from below stairs, though there could be no doubt that their visitors were still there.

As Mike had intimated, the round, clear moon was in the sky, and looking from the windows it seemed almost as bright as day. The party stood just far enough back to be invisible to anyone in the street below. A row of elms lined each side of the highway, being mutually separated by a dozen yards or so. They were small, having been set out only a few years before, but were in full foliage and the most remote ones cast a shadow into the highway. On the same side of what was the main street, each frame house that served for a dwelling had a yard, shrubbery and flowers in front. Farther to the left was the small grocery store, while to the right on the same side as the post office was the pert little village church to which reference has already been made.

At this hour all Beartown seemed to be sunk in slumber, as was quite proper should be the case. From not a single window twinkled a light nor was man, woman or boy seen on the street. A solitary dog, with nose down and travelling diagonally as canines sometimes do, trotted to the front gate of the house opposite the post office, jumped over and passed from view to the rear.

"I wonder what that man is waiting there for."

It was Nora who whispered this question, which instantly put the others on the _qui vive_.

"I don't see any man; where is he?" asked Chester.

"Under that tree opposite; he's in plain sight."

Such was the fact now that she had directed attention to him. The elm was directly across the street, and had a trunk not more than six or eight inches in diameter. A man was standing motionless under the dense foliage several feet above his head, doing nothing except simply to stand there.

"He is the lookout," said Chester.

"What's a lookout?" asked the nervous Nora.

"He is there to watch for danger that may threaten the others who are inside and working at your mother's safe. If he sees anything wrong he will give a signal, probably by means of a whistle, and the fellows below will run."

"Why couldn't you give the signal?"

"I could if I knew what it is, but I don't."

"Look! he is coming over here!" exclaimed the affrighted Nora, as the man stepped from the shadow, walked half way across the street, and then halted as if in doubt whether to advance farther.

"No fear of his visiting us," Alvin assured her; "but it is best to keep out of sight."

All shrank still farther back, when there was no possibility of being seen in the first place. The man did not look up, but kept his slouch hat pulled so far down that nothing of his face was visible. He held his position for perhaps five minutes, when he turned about and went back to his post. There could be no doubt that he was the lookout of the gang, as Chester had said when he was first noticed. Not once did he look up before reaching his place, so that none of our friends caught a glimpse of his features.

What a unique situation! One or more burglars were at work on the safe below stairs, and there were five persons on the floor above who knew it, but did not raise voice or a hand to interfere with them. It has been explained why, though it should be added that in the way of firearms there was only the single worthless Springfield rifle in the house. It was mother and daughter who held the three lads supine. Had they been left free they would have acted immediately on first learning of the presence of the criminals.

Chester had spoken the word "dynamite," and it was that terrific explosive which he and his companions dreaded unspeakably. If the charge were fired, it would not only blow the massive safe apart, but was likely to wreck the building itself and probably inflict death to more than one in the dwelling.

Mike Murphy chafed more than his comrades. Reflecting on the exasperating state of affairs, he determined to do something despite the opposition of the mother and daughter. A few minutes' thought suggested a plan. He would have revealed it to Alvin and Chester, but feared they would prevent action or that his whispering in the darkness of the room would awaken the suspicion of the other two.

Only when near the front windows could the members of the party dimly see one another. They had withdrawn so far at sight of the approach of the man on guard that the light ill served them. Mike stealthily retreated to the open door leading into the hall. Neither of his comrades heard him, and he groped along the passage, with hands outstretched on each side to guide him. The feet were lifted and set down without noise, and by and by he came to the opening leading to the bedroom. Across this he made his way with the same noiseless stealth, until the groping hand touched the battered rifle, which he lifted from its resting place. Back into the hall again, and then through the dining room, inch by inch, to where he remembered seeing the head of the stairs, though he knew nothing beyond that. He would have struck a match but for fear of attracting the notice of those below.

"I've only to feel each step," he reflected, "and I'll soon arrive, and then won't fur of the spalpeens fly?"

His unfamiliarity with the stairs made him think they were not so nearly perpendicular as was the fact. While the thought was in his mind, he made a misstep and, unable to check himself, went bumping all the way to the bottom.


CHAPTER XVII

"TALL OAKS FROM LITTLE ACORNS GROW"

If you wish an illustration of how great events often flow from trifling causes read what follows. It is one of the many events which prove that "tall oaks from little acorns grow."

You have not forgotten Jim, the gawky, overgrown boy who had a verbal contract with Mrs. Friestone which bound him to go to the store each weekday morning and set out on the front porch the score or more samples of the goods that were on sale within. The same agreement required him to come around at dusk each evening and carry them inside, his weekly wage for such duty being twenty-five cents. When, therefore, Mike Murphy handed him a silver quarter and assumed the job for that single night, Jim received a whole week's pay for turning it over to the Irish lad. It is not so strange that the youngster was confused at first over his bit of luck, which he did not fully understand until he reached home and had eaten his supper.

Now by one of those curious coincidences which occur oftener in this life than most people think, that day was the anniversary of Jim's birth. Being a good boy, as such things go, his father presented him with a fine pocketknife, than which nothing could have pleased his son better. It was really an excellent article, having four blades, one of which was a file, two of small size, and one quite large, the three being almost as keen-edged as a razor. Straightway the happy lad selected his right hand trousers pocket as the home of the knife when not in use. The miscellaneous articles, such as a jewsharp, a piece of twine, a key, three coppers, a piece of resin, several marbles, two ten-penny nails, a stub of a lead pencil and a few other things were shifted to the left side repository, where also he deposited the shining silver coin, after showing it to his parents and telling them how he fell heir to it.

The chat of the family shut out reference to the knife for most of the evening. Both parents were inclined to be gossipy, and they indulged in many guesses as to the identity of the donor and what caused him to be so liberal. The mother's first thought was that the red-haired, freckle-faced youth was a newcomer to Beartown, and had secured Jim's job, but that fear was removed by Jim's declaration that the stranger distinctly said he intended to do the work only for that evening.

It was not very late when Jim went to his bedroom on the second floor to retire for the night. When ready to disrobe, he took out the wealth of treasures in his left pocket, including the bright quarter, and shoved his hand into the other for the prize that outweighed them all. Then he emitted a gasp of dismay: the pocket was empty!

For a few moments he could not believe the truth. He frantically searched his clothing over and over again, but in vain. The explanation was as clear as noonday. In the bottom of his right-hand pocket was a gaping rent, through which he pushed two fingers and disgustedly spread them apart like a fan. He turned the cloth wrong side out and the dreadful yawn seemed to grin at him.

Weak and faint he sat down on the edge of his trundle bed.

"What made that blamed hole? It wasn't there a little while ago. It must have wored the hole while I was walking. I wouldn't lose that knife for ten million dollars. It _can't_ be lost!"

And then he repeated the search, as almost anyone will do in similar circumstances. He even looked under the jewsharp and among the marbles on the stand, where a mosquito could not have hidden itself.

"Oh, what's the use!" he exclaimed, dropping down again despairingly on the bed. "It's lost! Where did I lose it?"

Pulling himself together, he recalled the experiences of the day, from the time he received the present directly after breakfast. He had tested the implement many times in the course of the forenoon and afternoon, and by and by remembered snapping the big blade shut and slipping it into his pocket as he was going out of the house to the post office to perform his daily task. He reasoned well.

"I lost it somewhere atween here and the store. I can't see how it slipped down my trousers leg without me feeling it, but that's what it done. It's a-laying on the ground atween here and there, onless," he added, with a catch of his breath, "that ugly looking willain seen me drop it inside the store. I wonder if he give me that quarter so as to hurry me out that he might git my knife!"

He shivered at the probability, but rather singularly the dread was dissipated by a few minutes more of thought.

"If he'd seen it, so would Nora and she'd told me. It's somewhere along the street."

Such being his conclusion, the all-important question was what should he do to retrieve his crushing loss. His first inclination was to tell his parents and then hurry back over the route to look for the treasure. But it was night. There was no such thing as a