"That's just what you've done," he admitted.

"Pretty cool about it," observed Ben.

"Not so cool as I've been, sleeping in the damp gra.s.s a few foggy mornings lately. What are you going to do with me, fellows?"

The speaker rose to his feet with something of an effort. Then Tom noticed that he limped on one foot. The lad was thin and pale, too. He righted the upset chair and sat down on it. Ben placed the box on a table and leaned against it, regarding the stranger with curiosity. Tom sank into another chair.

"We're not judges or officers," he said, "but we are in charge here now."

"Then I'd better get out, I suppose," said the boy.

"What did you come in for in the first place? That's what we're interested in knowing," remarked Ben pointedly.

The stranger shrugged his shoulders in a way that was quite pathetic.

"See here," he said soberly, "if you had a foot pretty nigh cut off by a scythe right on top of a hard spell of the typhoid fever, and no place to eat or sleep, you'd burrow in most anywhere lying around loose, wouldn't you?"

"Does that describe your case?" questioned Tom.

"Just exactly," responded the lad, a quick dry click in his throat. "I'm not able to do my old work, and you might call me a roving convalescent, see?" and he chuckled. "I manage to pick up enough food. I spotted this place, tried to keep out of anybody's way, and tidied it up to pay for wearing out the floor boards. Then, too, I frightened off two tramps one night, who would have ransacked everything in sight if I hadn't made them believe I was a private watchman."

"But where do you live?" asked Ben.

"Here, if you'll let me," was the prompt reply.

"We'll do better than that," said Tom, who had been studying the boy's face and manner closely, and each succeeding moment was attracted more and more by his honest eyes and frank ways.

"Will you?" questioned the lad wonderingly.

"Yes," a.s.sured Tom. "To be plain about it, you are homeless and friendless."

"To be plain about it, you've just hit the nail on the head."

"All right; when we leave here you come along."

"Where to?"

"My home. You shall have a good supper, and I'm sure my mother will let me rig up a comfortable bed for you in the garret."

"Mattress?" queried the stranger with a grin.

"Of course."

"Pillow?" he asked additionally

"Yes."

The boy chuckled.

"Say," he spoke in a half sad, half gloating way, "it's so long since I saw such things I can hardly realize it. I suppose you want to know my name?"

"We'd like to," said Ben.

"Then call me Ashley, Harry Ashley. If anybody asks what I am, just tell them a poor lonely fellow in hard luck, but mending as fast as he can, and not afraid to tackle any job that means pay for work."

"That rings true," said Ben.

Tom got busy shoving the box he had brought from the village under the table. He had lighted a lamp. About to extinguish it, he glanced around the room to see that everything was in shape for the night.

"Come on, Ben, you too," directed Tom. "Blow out your candle, and we'll make a start."

The boy calling himself Harry Ashley limped over towards the chair holding the candle. At that moment there was an interruption. With a sharp tang the receiver began to pop out dots, dashes and echoing clicks.

"Some one on the line!" p.r.o.nounced Ben quickly.

"Yes," nodded Tom, hastening over to the instrument. "h.e.l.lo!"

Tom gave a vivid start. For over a month he had been acquiring the Morse code alphabet. Novice as he was, he was able to translate the rapid furious dots and dashes that sounded in the earpiece of the apparatus.

"The spooks!" Ben gasped.

"Yes," a.s.sented Tom quite stirred up himself-"'Donner!'"

"What's that?" exclaimed Harry Ashley. He turned as white as a sheet, and began trembling all over, and stood staring askance at Tom, the instrument and Ben.

CHAPTER V-A BOY WITH A MYSTERY

Tom did not take much notice of the strange conduct of the refugee. He was intent on learning what further the receiver would immediately tap out. Ben noted particularly the excitement of their new companion. His attention, too, was instantly diverted through his eagerness to catch the message coming all strange and jumbled by wireless.

"Just as Mr. Edson told us--" he began.

"Ah!" commented Tom.

The big distended eyes of Ben Dixon devoured the instrument with its shining coils and connections. He stood now rooted like a statue.

Finally the message ended. A queer smile crossed Tom's face.

"Well," he observed, "Mr. Edson certainly described it perfectly."

"Yes."

"And two thousand dollars this time."

"What else was the fellow trying to send?"