"And I suppose you'll go up there the first chance you get," pouted Jessie.

"Maybe," he answered, not altogether liking her tone. And then before anything more could be said the automobile swept up in front of Ben Ba.s.swood's home, and the conversation became general.

Ben had been on the back seat with Laura, and now as he left the party, Jessie came into the tonneau to keep Dave's sister company, so that on the journey to the Wadsworth mansion the talk between Jessie and Dave could not be renewed.

The next two days were busy ones for our hero. He had several matters of business to attend to for his father and his uncle. Added to this, old Caspar Potts asked the youth if he would not accompany him to the old farm where the pair had spent so long a time together.

"Why, certainly, I'll go to the farm with you, Professor," replied Dave.

"But what are you going to do there, if I may ask?"

"I want to get a box of books that was left in the garret there when we came away," answered the old, white-haired gentleman. "I would have brought them here before, but it slipped my mind entirely. Perhaps you remember the box?"

"Do you mean that old blue box that stood in the back of the garret?"

questioned Dave.

"That's the one, David. I don't think the books in it are of very great value, but they might as well be added to the library here," went on the old professor. The Wadsworth library comprised many hundreds of volumes, and was a source of great pride to Professor Potts, who had spent many days in cla.s.sifying the books and getting out a private catalogue. To please the old gentleman, Mr. Wadsworth had, from time to time, added various books and pamphlets which he might not otherwise have purchased.

Since Dave and Caspar Potts had left the old farm, the place had been leased to another party, but now it was unoccupied, and the cottage and stable were locked up.

"Looks natural," remarked Dave, as he stood on the tiny piazza of the cottage and looked around on the familiar scene. Then his thoughts went back to the past. What tremendous changes had taken place since he had left that home! He had found a father, a sister, and an uncle, and had made a host of friends. Not only that; he was rich, and had received a good education, and was on the fair road to success.

"David!" It was Caspar Potts who spoke, and his voice trembled. "How different it is from what it used to be! Certainly your folks and Mr.

Wadsworth have been great friends of mine," and the old gentleman blinked away the tears that stood in his mild eyes.

Unlocking the door of the little cottage, Dave went inside and lost no time in throwing open a number of windows, so that the fresh summer air from outside might dispel the dampness within. Then Caspar Potts entered, and both ascended the narrow stairway to the upper floor. Here was a tiny garret, which in the past had been given over mostly to the storage of old furniture and other articles not in use.

"I trust none of the tenants have disturbed that box," remarked Caspar Potts, when Dave had lit a candle which he had thoughtfully brought along.

"I see the box, Professor," answered the youth. "Here, if you will hold the candle I will get it out." And then Dave worked his way over to a corner under the eaves, and from behind a broken rocking-chair and a dilapidated couch, dragged forth a small wooden box, painted blue. He threw back the cover, exposing to view thirty or forty books, covered with dust and yellow with age.

"Good! good!" murmured the old professor, as he brushed one of the volumes off with his coat sleeve. "Some of these books are not very valuable, David, but a few of them will add quite a little to our library. I had those volumes when I was a student at college," he added proudly.

"I'll carry the box downstairs," said Dave.

Caspar Potts, candle in hand, led the way to the floor below. As he came out into the kitchen of the cottage, he was somewhat surprised to find two persons on the porch, talking earnestly.

"h.e.l.lo, you've got visitors!" said Dave, as he set the box of books down on a bare table. "Some one out for a look around, I suppose," he added.

"Maybe it is some one who would like to lease the farm," returned Caspar Potts. "Let us go out and see," and he extinguished the candle.

Brushing the dust and cobwebs from his coat, Dave followed the old professor to the porch of the cottage. The two visitors were so busy talking that, for the instant, they did not notice the others.

"h.e.l.lo there!" exclaimed Dave, in some surprise, as his eyes rested on the face of one of the visitors. "How in the world did you get here?"

"I--er--I--er--It's Mr. Porter!" stammered the fellow addressed, and he leaped quickly to his feet.

It was Ward Porton, the young man Dave and his chums had rescued from the sea when the steam yacht was on fire.

"Dave Porter! Here!" came from the other fellow who had been seated on the stoop, and now he too leaped up. "--I guess we had better leave," he stammered.

"Link Merwell!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed our hero. It must be confessed that now he was all but dumfounded. He had thought that Link Merwell must be in Boston, and to find him here on the outskirts of Crumville, and in company with Ward Porton, the fellow he had rescued, was almost beyond belief.

CHAPTER VII

LINK MERWELL AGAIN

Link Merwell showed signs of both suffering and dissipation. His face was thin and careworn, and his eyes had an uncertain, restless look in them. He had on a business suit much the worse for wear, and his tan shoes were worn down at the heels. Evidently he had not fared well since Dave had met him in the West.

"I once thought you were dead, Link," went on Dave, after a pause, during which Link Merwell had taken several steps away from the cottage.

"I thought you had been buried by that landslide."

"I know it," was the bitter reply. "It would have pleased you immensely if I had been buried alive."

"That isn't true. I wouldn't like to see anybody lose his life in that fashion," declared Dave. And then he went on quickly: "Did Job Haskers escape?"

"I don't know anything about him--and I don't want to know," returned Link Merwell, and his tone was as bitter as before. "Haskers didn't treat me right, and we separated before we got caught in the sliding rocks and dirt."

"I didn't know that you knew Merwell," said Dave, turning to Ward Porton.

"Oh, yes. I have known him for some time," was the reply of the young moving-picture actor.

"I think we had better be going," broke out Link Merwell, who had retreated a step or two further. He showed very plainly that he was afraid Dave might lay hands on him.

"Oh, don't be in a hurry," answered Ward Porton. "Now we've got the chance, I'd like to talk to Porter."

"I don't think I'll stay," and Link Merwell moved still farther away.

"I'll meet you later, you know where."

"See here, Link! Don't be in such a hurry," cried Dave, advancing toward the youth. "I want to talk to you."

"I know your game, Dave Porter! You want to catch me and hand me over to the authorities!" exclaimed Link, and showed more fear than ever.

"What makes you think that?"

"Never mind, you're not going to catch me this way! Don't forget, Porton. I'll see you later," and thus speaking, Link Merwell turned and started away on a swift walk. Then, as Dave went after him, he broke into a run, and reaching the roadway, dived into the woods beyond.

"My, my!" came from old Professor Potts. "David, why did he run away?"

"He's afraid of being arrested; that's why, Professor," explained our hero. "Don't you remember, he is one of the villainous fellows who robbed Mr. Wadsworth's jewelry works a year or so ago?"

"Oh, yes, to be sure!" murmured the old gentleman. "I remember now. What an awful thing for a young man like that to be such a criminal!"

"You say he is a criminal?" asked Ward Porton, curiously.

"He certainly is," answered Dave.