The Grammar School Boys in Summer Athletics | Page 7

"Come along out of this, you ghoul!" uttered Tom almost wrathfully, as
he seized his friend by the arm.
"We'll go to the door," Dick suggested. "Perhaps we can get inside. At
any rate, we can find out whether there is any one inside who wants
help."
Dick put his hand on the doorknob, giving it a turn and a hard push.
"Door's locked tightly now," he announced.
"And it takes human hands to lock a door," Reade observed sagely.
"Is there anyone inside who needs any help?" Prescott called loudly.
All was silent inside. Then Dick played a tattoo on the locked door with
his fists. Still no sound from inside.

"All together, now," urged Dick. "Any---one---want---help?" bawled
six lusty young voices in unison.
"There is only one voice that answers," continued Dick, after a pause,
as he turned to the others. "That's the silent voice of good sense."
"What does it say, then," challenged Dave.
"That we've done about all we can do here," Dick replied. "All we
know is that a man seemed to have been hurt here. If he was, he was
able to take himself away, and to conceal the signs of his hurt before
going. Therefore we've no further excuse for meddling around here that
I can see."
"Let's get along then," Tom urged. "And---whew! It's after half past
six!"
"You'd better run, then," jeered Dave. "Your stomach won't allow any
more fooling!"
"Now, what ought I to say to a crank like Darry?" demanded Reade,
turning to Prescott.
"You'd better overwhelm him, by saying what the man on the
clubhouse steps said," urged Dick.
"And what was that?" asked Tom eagerly.
"We-ell," hesitated Dick, "I believe that's still a secret."
The Grammar School boys were now walking rapidly through the
woods, but at mention of the clubhouse topic all had gathered close to
their young leader.
"Aren't you going to tell us now?" demanded Greg.
"I'm afraid not right away," responded Prescott slowly.
"See here, Dickins," growled Dave Darrin, "for months you've been

stringing us about what the man on the clubhouse steps said. Time and
again you've sprung that on us, and you've never given us the slightest
satisfaction. Now, you'd either better tell us, or shut up about the man
on the clubhouse steps."
"All right," sighed Dick. "I'll-----"
"Well?" insisted five boys in the same breath.
"I reckon I'll shut up," Dick rejoined.
"Say, somebody ought to hit Dickins!" grunted Reade.
"That's right," grinned Dan. "Well---let Tom do it."
Dick continued to smile mysteriously. He enjoyed this good-natured
teasing of his chums.
"What are we going to tell folks about what we saw at the cottage?"
queried Dan after another five minutes of trudging.
"If we tell anything at all," suggested Prescott, "I'll tell you how we can
win a prize."
"How?" demanded Tom innocently. "By telling the truth," Dick smiled.
Soon after the Grammar School boys came out on the road.
"See that group 'way ahead there?" asked Tom, pointing down the road.
"Yes," nodded Dick. "That's Rip's crowd, so we know they didn't get
hurt."
"Then the only one who did get hurt," Tom added, "was the man who
was very soon able to take mighty good care of himself."
"So we don't need to bother about the matter any more," Greg hinted.
"And, gracious! I hope mother has saved some supper for me."
"It'll be a cold hand-out for me," groaned Hazelton.

The Grammar School boys were soon on Main Street now. They
hurried along, as they had not yet come to the point of parting.
"Look at that crowd down the street," called Dave. "There's some
excitement in the wind."
"I'm not nosey," observed Tom.
"No," scoffed Darrin; "you're too hungry."
"I'm going to see what the excitement is about, anyway," muttered
Hazelton, starting forward off a run.
One by one the other boys yielded to curiosity and started at a jog-trot
for the corner where the crowd was gathered.
"No; the poor fellow isn't crazy in the ordinary sense of the word,"
Dick heard a tall man, finely dressed in black, say to some of the
bystanders. "He's harmless enough, and his mind isn't permanently
astray, if only he can have prompt and good care. But he's inclined to
get away by himself and ponder over his inventions. If he leads a too
solitary life long enough he may be past the possibility of a cure one of
these days. That is why Colonel Garwood is so anxious to find his son,
and offers such a handsome reward for information."
"Some one missing?" asked Dick in a low voice.
"Yes," nodded a man in the crowd. "A crazy inventor is lost, or he's
loose, at any rate, and his old father is trying to find him. There is