Dave Porter and the Runaways: or, Last Days at Oak Hall. Stratemeyer Edward

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      The run to the town in the vicinity of which Oak Hall was located had been made without further incident. On the way the party had talked over Mrs. Breen’s affairs, and Dunston Porter had promised to take the matter up, through his lawyer.

      “I think it best that our names don’t appear in the case,” said he. “Otherwise, Mr. Haskers might not treat you so well during the term.”

      “He never treats us well, anyway,” grumbled Phil. “But you are right, don’t mention our names.”

      On this late winter day the town looked rather dreary, but the young folks were in high spirits, and Dave, with a grand flourish, ran the car up to one of the best hotels the place afforded. As before, word had been sent ahead that they were coming, and the host of the resort came out to meet them.

      “We’ll have dinner ready inside of quarter of an hour,” he said. “Come in and make yourselves at home.”

      The repast was fully as good as the dinner served at Ryeport, and everybody enjoyed it greatly.

      “And now for the Hall!” cried Dave.

      “Glad to leave us?” asked Jessie, half-reproachfully.

      “You know better than to ask such a question,” he replied. “But if we have got to get back to the grind, why, we might as well do it.”

      “And I’m a bit anxious to see how the old place looks,” added the senator’s son.

      “Dave, you can run the car to the Hall, if you wish,” said Mr. Porter, feeling sure the youth would like to do that very thing.

      “All right.”

      The touring automobile was brought around, and they were just getting in when there came a sudden hail from across the way.

      “Hello, there, everybody!”

      “It’s Dave Porter, and Roger, and Phil!” said somebody else.

      “Why, how are you, Shadow!” cried our hero. “And how are you, Buster?” he added, as Maurice Hamilton and Buster Beggs came across the road to greet them.

      “Fine!” puffed Buster, who was very fat and jolly. “Only Shadow has been walking the feet off of me!” And then the stout youth shook hands all around.

      “Now, just to hear that!” cried Shadow, as he, too, shook hands. “Why, all we did was to walk from the Hall to here.”

      “And up one street and down another for half an hour,” burst in Buster.

      “Say, that puts me in mind of a story!” cried Shadow, who was noted for his yarn-spinning weakness. “Once two men started to walk–”

      “Stow it!” came from three of the other lads in concert.

      “It’s too early yet to tell stories, Shadow,” said Dave, with a smile. “You can tell them to-night. Tell us now, is there anything new at the Hall?”

      “There sure is.”

      “What?” asked Phil and Roger.

      “The wild man.”

      “Oh, has he turned up again?” asked the girls, with interest.

      “Twice – yesterday morning and this morning,” said Buster.

      “He didn’t turn up at all, Buster,” interposed Shadow. “When you start to tell a story, why don’t you tell it straight?”

      “Oh, you tell it,” grumbled the fat boy. “You have that sort of thing down to a science.”

      “There isn’t very much to tell,” went on Shadow Hamilton. “He left his mark, that’s all.”

      “Left his mark?” queried Dave.

      “That’s it – wide, blue marks. He must have about a ton of blue chalk.”

      “Say, Shadow, you are talking in riddles,” burst out the shipowner’s son. “Give it to us in plain United States, can’t you?”

      “Sure I can. Well, this wild man visited the school yesterday morning and this morning, before anybody was up. The first time he went into the big classroom and took some books, and the next time he visited the kitchen and pantry and took some grub – I beg the ladies’ pardon – I should have said food – a ham, a chicken, and some doughnuts.”

      “And the blue chalk–?” queried Mr. Porter.

      “I was coming to that. In the classroom he left his mark – a big circle, with a cross inside, in blue chalk.”

      “And how do you know that is the mark of the wild man?” asked Laura.

      “Oh, we found that out some time ago,” answered Shadow. “He seems to have a mania for blue chalk, and even puts it on his face sometimes, and he chalks down that circle with the cross wherever he goes.”

      “Then, if he does that, why can’t they trail him down?” asked Dave.

      “Because he is like a flea – when you try to put your hands on him he isn’t there,” answered Shadow. “And say, that puts me in mind of another story. Once three boys were–”

      “That will do, Shadow!” cried Roger. “About the wild man is enough for the present.”

      “Have they any idea who he is?” asked Dunston Porter.

      “Not the slightest,” answered Buster. “And they don’t know where he keeps himself, although it must be in the woods near the school.”

      “Oh, Dave, I hope he doesn’t harm anybody!” cried Jessie, with a shiver.

      “Are you boys ready to go back to the Hall?” asked Dunston Porter.

      “I am,” responded Buster, readily.

      “So am I,” added the story-teller of the school.

      “Then we’ll take you along, provided you don’t mind being crowded.”

      “We won’t mind, if the young ladies won’t,” returned the fat youth.

      “Oh, come in by all means!” cried Laura.

      “We’ll make room somehow,” added Jessie.

      A minute later the big car started on the way to Oak Hall, with Dave at the wheel and his uncle beside him.

      “Looks familiar, doesn’t it?” called out Roger, as they spun along the turnpike.

      “It certainly does!” answered Roger, and then he added, “What do you say to the old school song?”

      “Fine!” came back the answer, and then the senator’s son commenced a song they all knew well, which was sung to the tune of “Auld Lang Syne.” The girls knew the song, too, and readily joined in.