"Right," agreed Merritt, and a few moments later, having left the captain and the others ash.o.r.e, the Boy Scouts and their young leader were speeding toward Hampton. With the craft lightened as she was, they made good time and arrived at the yacht club pier speedily.

News of the events which had transpired at the island had evidently reached the town, for Mr. Wingate himself, with Mr. Blake and Merritt's father were at the landing as the Flying Fish glided up to it.

The three elders were almost as enthusiastic as the boys had been over the safe recovery of Joe, the details attendant on which Rob rapidly sketched to them. He had hardly concluded and had not had time to ask how they knew of the kidnapping when a wild-eyed man in faded old farm clothes, accompanied by an equally distracted woman, came rushing down to the wharf.

"Where's them Boy Scouts? I allers knew no good would come of my son joining 'em," the man shouted. "I'll give a hundred dollars fer a boat that'll take me ter Topsail Island in ten minutes."

"'No need of that, Mr. Digby," said Rob quietly stepping forward with his hand on Joe's shoulder, "here is Joe safe and sound."

"Great hopping watermelons!" yelled the farmer, rushing at his son followed by his wife. Together the worthy souls almost squashed the small lad like a b.u.t.terfly under a harrow. But at last the first greetings were over and the farmer turned to the somewhat amused group of boys and men who were looking on.

"My, what a fright we had," exclaimed Mrs. Digby, a motherly-looking woman, dabbing at her eyes with capacious pocket handkerchief, "we gets a letter tellin' us that our boy be kidnapped."

"Yes we know all about that, Mrs. Digby," put in Mr. Blake, "you recollect your husband telephoned to the chief of police here about it, and expecting news from the island, we came down here."

"So he did, so he did," cried Mrs. Digby, "oh, dear me, Mr. Blake, I'm in such a takin! I hardly know what I'm sayin'."

"Consarn them Boy Scouts," sputtered the farmer, returning to his original grievance, "if Joe hadn't a joined them none of this would have happened."

"Oh, yes it would and worse in fact," said Mr. Blake quietly, "from what I have learned of the affair it was your lad's knowledge of the Morse code, which every Boy Scout must know, that saved him when he was confined on the island."

"That's right, pop," piped up the lad himself.

"Wall, I don't know nothin' about Horses, codes," grunted Mr. Digby, somewhat mollified, "but if it saved Joe here it must be all right."

"Then your animosity toward the Boy Scouts is somewhat modified,"

smiled Mr. Blake, "let me tell you just what happened. As a matter of fact the whole trouble dates back to the day your son exposed the contemptible trick by which Jack Curtiss hoped to win the aeroplane model prize contest."

The banker drew the farmer aside and related to him the story that had been previously narrated by Rob.

"I want ter shake yer hand, boy," exclaimed the fanner, darting at Rob at the conclusion, "I want ter shake all yer hands," he yelled in his enthusiasm.

"Bless my soul," exclaimed Commodore Wingate suddenly, "we are clean forgetting about those two young rascals who tried to extort the money from Mr. Digby. We must get after them at once and their accomplice who, I suppose, is, the man delegated to take the money from under the rock."

"What do you suggest?" asked Mr. Blake.

"That we hasten to the office of the chief of police and then get into my car and ferret them out if possible," said the commodore briskly, "they must be made to suffer for this."

"I don't believe that Sam Redding had any hand in it," put in Rob as Merritt mentioned the name of the boat-builder's son. "You know that all our investigation only pointed to two persons, Jack and Bill, and their a.s.sistant, Hank Handcraft."

A short time later Merritt, Tubby and the Digbys being left behind on the landing, a high powered car, containing Rob, his father, Commodore Wingate and the chief of police of Hampton shot out on to the road leading to the farm owned by Jack Curtiss' father. Inquiry at the Bender home had already developed the fact that Jack and Bill had left there hurriedly a short time before, saying they were going out to the Curtiss place. The party was doomed to disappointment, however, so far as the hope of catching Jack or his accomplices at the farm was concerned. Old Mr. Curtiss informed them that his son had taken the family buggy and driven furiously off down the road with Bill Bender a short time before.

"He got a hundred dollars from me," explained the old man simply, "he told me he was goin' ter invest it in some rich mining stock his friend Bender had promoted but--what's the matter, gentlemen," he broke off, noticing the half-pitying look on the faces of the men in the automobile. Mr. Blake hurriedly explained the attempted extortion of which Jack had been guilty.

"What, Jack--my son!" exclaimed the old man in half daze at the stunning intelligence, "my boy Jack do a thing like that? Why, it can't be true. I don't believe it."

"I'm afraid, nevertheless, it is," rejoined Mr. Blake, but the old man only shook his head.

"I'll not believe it," he kept repeating.

"I wish that so good a father had a worthy son," remarked Mr. Blake as the car shot out of the farm and out upon the highroad in the hope of overtaking the buggy.

At the Digby farm the machine was turned off to take the cross roads and at this spot they encountered a buggy coming toward them driven by a farmer friend of Mr. Blake's.

"Seen a rig with Jack Curtiss and Bill Bender in it?" shouted the banker as the car was slowed up by Commodore Wingate.

"Down the road a piece driving like the Mischief," responded the rustic pointing back with his whip, "but you're wrong 'bout ther' bein' only two of them; that no-good beach-comber, Hank Handcraft, was in there with them."

With a shouted word of thanks the car dashed forward once more. It was evident that, realizing that their game was up, Jack and Bill had picked up Hank, and, with a sense of loyalty for which Rob certainly would not have given them credit, were trying to save him too.

"Where can they be headed for?" wondered Mr. Blake as the car dashed forward.

"I can hazard a guess," exclaimed Commodore Wingate, "for the Sunnyside railroad station. If they make a train they may escape us yet."

"Je-rus-a-lem," exclaimed the chief of police, a man named Applegate, pulling out a huge old-fashioned silver watch, "there's a train due in a few minutes now; if we don't make it, they'll slip through our fingers!"

Faster and faster the car roared forward and suddenly as it shot round a curve the little station of Sunnyside came in sight. Tied outside it was the buggy and horse of farmer Curtiss and on the platform stood three figures that the party in the auto made out at once as Jack Curtiss, Bill Bender and their unsavory ally.

The road took a long curve at this point and while they could see the station the pursuers had the mortification of knowing that it would be some minutes before they could reach it. As the car bounded forward, swaying like a rocking ship over the rough roads, there came a sudden sound that made Rob's heart bound.

The long whistle of an approaching train.

Faster the machine shot onward roaring like a battery of machine guns going into action. Its occupants leaned forward with eyes glued on the group on the platform.

The trio of whom the autoists were in pursuit had by this time realized that they were the objects of the chase and were nervously staring up the track down which was fast approaching the train by which they hoped to escape.

The auto was still a good two hundred yards from the station when the train rolled in and, hardly stopping, started to move out again.

"Stop! stop!" yelled Chief Applegate, at the top of his lungs, and the others waved their hands frantically. The engineer looked back at them with a grin.

"Some more idiots missed their train, Jim," he remarked to the fireman, "I might have waited for them but we're five minutes behind schedule time now."

The fireman nodded understandingly and as the auto, in a cloud of dust, dashed up to the little depot the train, with a screech that sounded like the last defiance of the bully, shot round a curve and vanished with a cloud of black smoke.

"Beaten!" gasped the chief.

"We can telegraph ahead and have them arrested in New York," suggested Rob.

"No, perhaps it is all for the best," counseled Mr. Blake, "the parents of both those boys are respected citizens, and it would be a cruel grievance to them were their boys to be publicly disgraced. Let them work out their own salvation."

And so Jack Curtiss, Bill Bender and Hank Handcraft vanish for a time from the ken of the Boy Scouts, leaving behind them no regrets, except it be those of their parents who were for many months bowed down with the grief and humiliation of their boys' misdoings.

CHAPTER XXIII

SCOUTS IN NEED ARE FRIENDS INDEED