CHAPTER XIV
THE NEW HELPER
Bruce replaced the cap back over his injured ears and smiled at his two friends.
“No, not exactly football,” he replied. “It was worse than that.”
“Whew!” whistled Dave. “You must have been ‘up against it,’ as Borden would say.”
“Up against a grindstone; yes,” assented Hiram. “Go ahead, Bruce, and let’s hear about it.”
“It’s a long story about how my father died, and how Martin Dawson got hold of his estate,” began the homeless orphan. “I’ll tell you all the particulars of that some time, and maybe you can advise me, and help us to get our rights. Old Martin Dawson has treated me meanly. He hired me out to all kinds of hard work, and half-starved me, and kept me in rags. As I told Hiram when I first met him, Mr. Dawson had a regular set of bad men around him. They were all rough characters. There was one fellow who traveled with circus shows. His name was Wertz. It was about two years ago when Mr. Dawson farmed me out to him. Wertz tried to train me for the trapeze, but I wasn’t limber enough for that. Then he said he would use me in his knife-throwing act. He made me stand against a wooden shield while he threw knives at me. I’ve got two bad scars on my body now, where he missed, and the knives cut into me. Then one day when practicing he clipped off a little piece of my right ear. I ran away from him then, but he got me back. I made him agree that after that he wouldn’t aim at my head, only my arms and the rest of my body. One night at a circus, though, he got reckless. He aimed at my ear—the left one—intending to set a circle of knives all around my head. One clipped my other ear, as you have seen. It hurt dreadfully, and I fainted away. The audience was roused up about it, and the humane society got after Wertz and he ran away. Then I went back to Mr. Dawson. A doctor fixed up my ears, but they are not quite healed yet.”
This story aroused the sympathy and interest of Dave, and he decided to employ Bruce. The watchman, Dennis, was called away by a partner to a country fair and Bruce was installed as watchman in his place. The young airman knew he could trust him and he found Bruce willing and grateful.
“You see,” proceeded Hiram, “it’s only six days to the meet. Monday the contests begin, and we want to get everything in ship-shape order.”
“That is true,” agreed Dave. “What is it you have to suggest, Hiram?”
The latter drew from his pocket a double printed sheet and handed it to Dave.
“I got one of the first programmes,” explained Hiram.
Dave scanned it casually. He had been informed in advance, as had most of the entrants, of the nature of the various contests. Towards the last, however, something new and unexpected met his glance.
“‘Mail delivered—twenty stations, minimum altitude two hundred feet’—what does that mean?” and he looked keenly at his assistant as the latter began to laugh and chuckle.
“That, Dave,” answered Hiram with a great deal of satisfaction, and some pride—“that means me.”
“Oh!” observed quick-witted Dave, thinking back, and guessing hard, “those leather bags——”
“You’ve hit it,” acquiesced Hiram. “The idea came to me while we were practicing at the Midlothian field. I reckoned it wouldn’t be hard to work up the management to including a mail delivery feature in the programme, so I set to practicing. And I’ve been at it on the sly ever since,” added the speaker with a laugh.
“Go ahead, Hiram,” encouraged Dave. “You don’t usually stop half way, and you have got more than that to tell.”
“Why, yes, I have,” admitted Hiram. “When I was a boy—I mean a real little fellow—I was always good at pitching quoits, and such things. I was the local champion at ‘Duck on the Rock.’ I saw an article in the newspapers discussing the idea of establishing an airship route to deliver mail bags. I practiced. First, Dave, I was going to tell you, and have you work up the idea. Then I thought how busy you were and—well, I’ll wager you I can win the twenty point score on the mail feature over anybody in the contest.”
“Well; twenty points isn’t to be sneezed at,” commented Dave briskly. “It may be a saving clause for us.”
“I suggested that programme number to the management,” went on Hiram. “I showed them the newspaper article about it. Now of course a lot of fellows will be getting in trim for it, but don’t forget that I have had three weeks’ practice ahead of them. Oh, Dave, I forgot till now—another thing: I met the policeman you took in the Ariel after that diamond robber.”
“What did he say, Hiram?”
“The man died without coming back to consciousness. Those diamonds will never be found now, unless they locate the partner he passed them to.”
“Have you seen anything of Borden lately?” asked Dave.
“I’ve seen him, in fact I’ve passed right by him at the Syndicate camp half a dozen times, but he turns away, or scowls at me. It’s part of his ‘acting’ you know. He isn’t ready to report to us yet, but I know he will when he is ready to do us some good.”
Dave went away alone an hour later for a flight with the Ariel over the sand dunes.
“It’s a good time to clean house,” suggested Dave to Hiram, before leaving, and the latter and Bruce, following his orders, cleared out a lot of rubbish that obstructed the garage space. This they proceeded to burn up.
“Here’s a box with a lot of catalogues, and some papers in it,” said Bruce, lifting the article from the top of a barrel.
“Dump them into the fire,” ordered Hiram.
“Maybe they are some good,” suggested Bruce, looking over the litter, and then he uttered so strange a cry that Hiram regarded him curiously.
Bruce had taken from the box and unrolled a sheet of manilla paper. It was the one which bore the crayon portrait of the man who had tried to blow up the two airships at the Midlothian grounds.
“Hiram,” spoke Bruce in a quick troubled tone, “where did you get this? I know that man!”
“You do!” exclaimed Hiram, pressing closely to his side. “Who is he?”
“It’s the man I told you about—the knife-thrower, Wertz,” was Bruce Beresford’s reply.