Part 20 (1/2)
”I've heard that name before. Didn't you have some trouble with the railroad company?” asked Hiram Duff. ”About a busted-up flying machine?”
”Yes,” replied Sam.
”And got the best of that skinflint lawyer, Belright Fogg?”
”We made Mr. Fogg pay for the biplane, yes.”
”I know all about it,” chuckled Hiram Duff. ”Served Fogg right. And he lost his job with the railroad company, too.” The old man pursed up his lips. ”Well, if you'll give me your word that you will settle with me I won't go to the police. But I want every cent that is coming to me, understand that.”
”You'll get it--if my brother took the box,” answered Sam. ”But listen to me. First of all I want to find my brother. I think he ought to be under a doctor's care.”
”He ought to be in an asylum,” responded Hiram Duff, bluntly. ”It's dangerous to allow sech a feller at large.”
”Maybe. We are going on a hunt for him right now,” answered Sam.
”I'll come back here, or you can come to see me at Brill. And don't worry, Mr. Duff,--you'll not lose a cent,” added the youth, earnestly.
Luckily Hiram Duff had heard all about the trouble the Rovers had had with the railroad lawyer, and had at the time also heard that Sam's family were wealthy and of high standing. This being so, he took matters far more calmly than would otherwise have been the case. But he wanted something in writing and Sam quickly wrote out a statement and signed it.
”Now we must get after my brother,” said the youth. ”Although you say you have no idea where he went?”
”No, I ain't got the least idee.”
”Let us drive on towards Hoopville,” suggested Songbird. ”We can make inquiries along the way.”
In a few minutes more the pair were on the way, Hiram Duff gazing after them anxiously.
”Don't forget to let me hear from you!” he called out.
”Songbird, this is terrible!” murmured Sam, as they drove on. ”I wish d.i.c.k was here to advise me.”
”He'll come as quickly as he can, don't worry about that, Sam. I only hope we catch Tom before he gets too far away.”
About a mile was covered along the road leading to Hoopville, a small village, the single industry of which was the making of barrel hoops.
Then they came to another farmhouse, where they saw a boy of fifteen sitting on a horse-block, whittling a stick.
”h.e.l.lo, there!” called out Sam. ”Say, I'm looking for a young fellow that pa.s.sed here yesterday. Did you see anything of him? Here is his picture.”
”Sure I saw him,” answered the boy, after a glance at the photograph.
”I drove him over to Morton's Junction.”
”Drove him over to Morton's Junction?” repeated Sam. ”When?”
”Yesterday afternoon. But we didn't git to the Junction till seven o'clock.”
”Where did you go to?”
”What do you want to know for?” asked the boy, curiously.
”He is my brother and I want to find him, just as quickly as I can.”