Perry and Cub.

"Oh, come now, kids, tell us the truth," ordered the leering spokesman, advancing a pace nearer. "Tell us how many went away in your boat and how soon they'll be back."

"There was a large man and a big boy," Bud interposed with more a.s.surance that he felt.

Sly grins crept over the countenances of the four men.

"Oh," grunted the spokesman; "you hope by that kind o' talk to scare us away. Well, nothin' doing along that line. This here island belongs to us, and we don't allow no trespa.s.sin."

"Is the island for sale?" inquired Hal, who thought he saw an opening through which he might work up the interest of the three men without arousing their antagonism.

"Fer sale?" repeated the spokesman of the quartet, all four of whom seemed to exchange among themselves a round of sinister glances. "Well, I guess nit. They ain't enough money this side o' the United States treasury to buy this island from us."

"We might be able to sc.r.a.pe up a handsome sum, if necessary," Hal reasoned.

A suggestion of covetous greed shone in the eyes of all four men, but the spokesman belied his own looks by saying:

"Nothin' doing. We want you guys to git out o' here. This is our summer resort, eh, Spike"--turning to the long-armed, deep chested man.

"Spike" nodded grimly and replied:

"You bet it is, cap'n. We're gen'lemen of leisure an' don't care fer money. All we want is our own, and they's sure to be trouble if anybody tries to take it away from us."

"Well, we don't want anything that doesn't belong to us," was Bud's rea.s.suring answer; "and if this island is yours, we surely don't want to stay here. But we thought that maybe you'd be glad to sell, for a member of our party said he'd like to buy all of the islands of this group if he could find the owner."

"Who is he?" asked the quartet's spokesman.

"His name is Perry and he lives at Oswego, New York," Bud replied.

"Well, you all go somewheres else to talk that matter over and then take it up with my real estate agent. Meanwhile I don't allow no trespa.s.sers on this ground."

"But we can't go until our friends come back with their boat," said Hal.

"They promised to return soon."

"Where did they go?"

"To the Canadian Coast."

"What fer?"

"To get another friend who will join us."

"Well, they'd better hurry up or they won't find you when they get back."

"What's that you got there?" asked the man who had been addressed as "Spike", indicating the radio table and outfit thereon.

"That's a wireless outfit, you goof," replied the tall, angular spokesman.

"I tell you what we'll do," Hal announced, taking inspiration from the attention thus called to his radio apparatus. "We'll call our friends by wireless and have them return at once and take us away. How's that?"

"All right," was the a.s.senting response. "Go ahead, but be careful, no tricks, or our revenge will be speedy, and that's no name fer it."

With this warning the four men walked away and Hall got busy with a diligence inspired by a sense of danger and, at the same time, a sense of the opportunity afforded by the possibilities of the world's latest great invention, radio.

CHAPTER XIX

"S O S" from Friday Island

Max Handy, the Canadian youth at Rockport, who gave the crew of the Catwhisker, by wireless, directions whereby the latter were able to locate "mathematically" the whereabouts of the "Canadian Crusoe's Friday Island" listened in much of the time thereafter, in the hope of being able to keep in touch with developments to the end of this interesting radio affair.

And this hope was realized in a degree that could hardly have been expected with moderation. But he was well equipped, and, being mechanically inclined, and industrious, he was able to get a maximum of results with his sending and receiving outfit.

He had traced the rescue yacht all the way from Oswego to Friday Island, and the last message he had picked up from the three young radio Americans was the one that completed the agreement under which the yacht was to proceed to Rockport next day and meet the father of the "missing Crusoe". Then he attempted to get in communication with the island operator, but Mr. Perry had just announced that the next number on the program would be "everybody to bed at once", and there was no more listening-in before the next morning.

Max stayed up late that night, with phones to his ears, eager to get another message from the island, and he was a very much disappointed enthusiast when at last he gave up his efforts, convinced that they were useless. He slept late next morning and consequently lost an opportunity to respond to Hal's first call to enlist the aid of the Rockport amateurs in the campaign to rescue the missing "Crusoe".

But at last he caught a message from the island, and the conversation, translated from code, that took place between him and Hal, following a few introductory inconsequentials, was as follows:

"I listened-in last night and heard your arrangements for today," the Canadian dot-and-dashed. "When are you coming to Rockport?"

"Two of us are on the way," Hal replied. "They ought to be there by this time."

"Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"Yes. Can you go to the dock and ask them to hurry back? There are four ugly acting men here on the island, who have ordered us off. They threatened to make trouble for us if we do not go soon."

"Don't your friends know those men are there?"

"No; we discovered them after the boat left."

"All right, I will run down to the dock and tell them."

Max literally kept his promise relative to his manner of travel. He ran all the way to the dock, half a mile. The Catwhisker was there, tied fast with cables, but n.o.body was on board.

"They've gone to the depot," he concluded; then he turned his steps toward the railroad station.

He ran and walked alternately, with a dozen changes of speed, and arrived just as the train from the west was pulling in. He had no difficulty in identifying Mr. Perry and Cub when they introduced themselves to Mr.

Baker, as the latter stepped from a coach, and a moment later he was addressing the owner of the Catwhisker thus:

"Is this Mr. Perry of Oswego, New York?"

The latter turned quickly and beheld a youth about the age of his own son, but of considerably shorter stature.

"It is," he replied somewhat apprehensively, in view of recent stirring events and the logical probability of more of the same sort.