“Sure it has, boss. I’ve been tramping around and I was cooking a little meal in a field over Cherry Valley way when I picked up this paper. I can read—I went to school once,” he said, with a flash of pride, but it was only a brief flash. “I read what it said and I asked my way here.”
“How did the paper get in the field?” asked Tom. “Did it blow there?”
“No, boss, it come down on a kite.”
“On a kite?” cried Mr. Damon. “Bless my phonograph, but he’s hoaxing you, Tom! Pay no attention to him. It’s all a trick to get money out of you.”
But the old man did not appear to be one who would play a joke, and his face was grave as he made the surprising statement about the kite. Also there was about him a pathetic, hungry, hoping look as he glanced at Tom Swift.
“You say this message came down in a field on a kite?” asked Tom, and his voice though at first stern, was now kinder, for he felt sorry for the old codger.
“Yes, boss, in a field where I was roasting some ears of corn a farmer said I could have. They was almost roasted when down out of the air swooped this kite. First I thought some boys must ’a’ been playing around there and it got away from them. But I didn’t see no boys. Then I picked up the kite and this message was on it.”
“You mean this message was tied to the tail or to the string of the kite itself?”
“No, it wasn’t tied on. It was part of the kite—part of the paper the kite was made of. There wasn’t no string to speak of. Looked to me like the kite broke away. This message was writ right on the paper of the kite. It was partly tore off so I finished ripping it loose, and put it in my pocket.”
“Where’s the remainder of the kite?” asked Tom. He was going to prove this strange tale to the very bottom.