Part 1 (2/2)
”It concerns all of us.”
Harry took it and read as follows:
DEAR FRANK AND HARRY:
Shall be in town to-morrow morning with my father and Mr. Luther Barr, the well-known ivory importer. He has a communication of importance for you. What it is I am afraid to trust to writing, but you will know full details when you see us. Will you call at the Waldorf at ten-thirty and have breakfast? We can discuss the matter over the meal. All I can say now is that if the Golden Eagle is still in shape for her old-time stunts there is work ahead of her that will prove harder than anything she has yet tackled. However, I know you are not the chaps to balk at a little danger--particularly when exciting adventures are in the wind.
So long, then, till to-morrow:
”LATHROP EASLEY”
”Well, what do you know about that?” gasped Billy Barnes, here we are fixing up for a nice little holiday trip to rest our shattered nerves, and here comes, a job along that looks as if we should have to work all summer.”
”It certainly is curious,” replied Frank musingly.
”What can Lathrop mean? Who is Luther Barr? I have heard the name but I cannot place him.”
”Lathrop says he is an ivory importer,” suggested Harry.
”Easy to find out,” said the resourceful Billy. ”Where's the 'phone book?”
Frank handed the volume to him from its hook beside the instrument.
”Ah--here we are,” exclaimed Billy, as he ran his finger triumphantly down the ”B” list. ”Barr, Luther--that's our man, eh? Ivory importer, offices No. 42 Wall Street--home, White Plains.”
”White Plains, that's where Lathrop's folks live,” exclaimed Harry.
”That's where he first became a.s.sociated with the Golden Eagle.”
”And turned out to be a good partner,” added Frank.
”A jim dandy,” agreed Billy. ”I tell you boys, I've got a good nose for news and if there isn't some sort of a story back of Mr. Luther Barr and Lathrop's letter I'll eat my hat without sauce.”
Any acceptance of the young reporter's generous offer was interrupted by a sudden noise in the usually quiet street.
”I tell you the fare's a dollar!” the boys heard an angry voice declaim.
”'Tain't nothing of the kind or I'm a lubber--fifty cents is all I'll pay. I'll be horn-swoggled if you get a cent more, yer deep-sea pirate,” was the indignant phrased reply.
Something in the voice was strangely familiar but the ”horn-swoggled”
settled it.
”Ben Stubbs,” gasped all the, boys simultaneously and rushed out of the garage to the street.
Here they found a stoutly-built, crisp-bearded man with a face tanned to what Billy called a ”weathered oak finish,” arguing loudly with a taxicab chauffeur. The man was obdurate over his fare and just at, the boys came on the scene was suggesting that his equally determined pa.s.senger get back in the cab and take a ride to the police station.
”The sergeant will settle our dispute,” he said angrily.
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