“Why, what of it?” asked Dave.
“Don’t you know who he is?”
“No.”
“It’s a fellow named Brooks. He works around the hangars at odd jobs, and is a regular crony of Jerry Dawson. Hey, you,” shouted Hiram after the receding figure, “what you snooping around here, playing the eavesdropper, for?”
“Huh!” retorted the other, “what you coming along for and waking up a fellow when he’s taking a nap in the cool of the evening?”
Then the fellow walked on. There was a sneer and a menace in his vicious tones.
“I don’t like it,” said Hiram, half to himself, “I don’t like anything or anybody that mixes up with Jerry Dawson.”
CHAPTER XXI
THE AMATEUR TROPHY