Part 11 (2/2)

The boys never forgot that long, yet all too short winter evening; the wholesome food; the dish of home-made candy; the fireside game of ”twenty questions”; the music played by Mabel on the old-fas.h.i.+oned square piano, while Mary and Tony danced; the lively conversation and Bill's exhibition of so-called mind reading--really muscle reading, during which, with Mrs. Farrell and Mabel holding his wrists, he found, blindfolded, a hidden pocket knife.

Merritt had slipped out early to open the radiator of his car, which he had foolishly forgotten to do. He had come back and called Bill aside for a moment.

”There's another car down the road, just beyond mine; a big one and n.o.body about. I went along apiece to look at it and I think I know who it belongs to--that there new Eyetalian hash-house feller in Guilford.

Only one car there like it and that's his'n. You was askin' about him bein' in Guilford.”

”Yes. We know him and he knows us. He could have found out you were taking us home and then have seen your car here and waited.”

”You mean follered you? What'd he want to do----?”

”Is he still in his car?” interrupted Bill.

”I reckon so; think I saw four fellers in it. They can keep warm there and every now and then run their engine a bit to keep her from freezin'

up.”

”They'll be drifted in, won't they?”

”Reckon not, with a big car like that; and the storm's goin' to quit.”

”But that won't let us go on to-night. And what is that Italian up to?”

Bill dismissed the subject with Merritt, but resolved to tell Gus, though not Tony, as it would put a damper on their friend's peace of mind. What harm could come of Malatesta's being here? He could not approach the house without alarming the Farrell dog and that was a.s.surance enough. And Bill could not help being doubtful as to the Sicilian's being really dangerous. There might be such a thing as carrying this grudge business to extremes, but hardly here and in this storm.

Bill and Gus spent the night in the best spare room, under the heavy covers of an immense fourposter. They slept through the cold night like inanimate objects. Tony, alone, occupied a room which had evidently been that of an only son who had gone away to the Great War to remain away forever. There was c.r.a.pe hanging over the frame of a picture showing a st.u.r.dy, manly looking fellow in khaki. From the appearance of things, Tony, also, should have pa.s.sed a comfortable night. Merritt was tucked away to his entire satisfaction.

CHAPTER XVII

KIDNAPED

In the morning Bill and Gus were up at daylight, as was their habit. The storm had ceased, and it was turning warm, the snow melting already. The boys went to the barn to help with the milking; they got in some wood and performed other ch.o.r.es. Mr. Farrell, coming in, declared with his hearty laugh that they could stay as long as they might wish to, for they had certainly more than earned their food and lodging. As they went in to the breakfast table he said.

”Mother, better give that other young fellow his money back. Where is he, anyway? Not down yet?”

”Not yet,” said Mrs. Farrell, ”though I called him twice.”

”I'll get him up and down,” said Gus, going toward the stairway.

”Father, have you seen Gyp?” asked Mary Farrell. ”I've called him too, but he doesn't come for his breakfast.”

The farmer shook his head and, stepping to the back door, whistled sharply and at length. Turning to come in he heard a low whine and a quick search found the dog, lying on his side and unable to rise, his eyes dull and bloodshot, his tongue protruding. Mr. Farrell had seen something of the sort before. He picked up the poor little beast and carried him to a warm bed by the kitchen stove.

”Sarah, he's been poisoned! Nothing else. Getting over it, though.

What--?” And then they heard Gus calling from above.

”Bill! Bill! Come up here, quick! Tony's gone!”

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