Willard Baker - Bob Dexter and the Storm Mountain Mystery or, The Secret of the Log Cabin

“Come on, Bob, going to the ball game!”

“It’s going to be a corker! Better hurry if you want a good seat!”

Two young men paused at the front gate of a neat cottage, standing somewhat back from a quiet side street of the village, and looked toward another youth who was seated on the porch. This lad glanced up from a book he was reading as his two chums, Harry Pierce and Ned Fuller, hailed him.

“Come on, Bob!” urged Harry, opening the gate. “What’s the idea? You’re usually the first one in the grand stand when our club plays the Midvale nine.”

“Looks as if you didn’t want to root for the home team,” went on Ned as he followed his companion up the front walk.

“Oh, I’d like to root for them all right, and I’d like to see them win, of course,” answered Bob Dexter, as he closed the book he had been reading. But his chums noticed that he kept one finger in between the pages so he would not lose his place.

“Well, then, you’d better get a move on!” urged Harry. “They won’t keep club members’ seats for them much longer, and there’ll be a big mob there – this is the deciding game of the series.”

“Yes, I know,” said Bob, “but I’m not going!”

“Not going!” cried the other two, and there was much surprise in their voices.

“What’s wrong?” demanded Harry. “You aren’t soured on the club, are you?”

“Of course I’m not,” and Bob smiled. “I should have said I can’t go. I’ve got something to do.”

“What do you mean – finish that book – a detective story, I’ll stake a cookie on it!” exclaimed Ned. “I thought so!” he added, as he turned the book over in Bob’s hand and disclosed the title which was “The Strange Case of the Twisted Ear.”

“Say, look here!” broke in Harry, as he playfully snatched the book from Bob. “If you’re going to stay here and read one of your everlasting detective stories, when the most important club ball game of the season is being played – well, all I’ve got to say is that Ned and I won’t let you!”

“Atta boy! You let out an earful that time!” cried Ned.

The two chums caught hold of Bob and pulled him from the chair. Laughingly he protested and made fast to one of the porch pillars to avoid being yanked off.

“Cut it out, fellows! Cut it out!” begged Bob. “It isn’t that at all! I’m not staying here to read a detective story, though I was glancing over this French one while I was waiting. But I’ve got to do something for my uncle, and that’s why I’m staying here. I want to go to the ball game as badly as you fellows do. And I’m coming as soon as a certain man appears with some important papers for Uncle Joel. But I can’t go until then – really, I can’t. Uncle Joel told me to stay here, waiting for this man. It’s very important.”

There was that in Bob’s voice which impressed his chums. They released their holds on him, rather reluctantly be it said, and Bob picked up the book that had fallen to the porch floor, and resumed his seat in the chair, albeit somewhat ruffled by the dragging process.

“Well, that’s different, of course,” admitted Ned as he straightened his collar which had been shifted in the struggle.

“Why didn’t you say at first that you were staying here because your uncle asked you to?” inquired Harry. He and Ned knew the stern qualities of Bob’s Uncle Joel. Though a just man, Mr. Dexter, who was brother to Bob’s dead father, insisted on strict obedience from his nephew, especially in matters of business.

“This is a business matter,” said Bob. “I would have told you fellows, if you’d given me a chance. But you went off, half cocked, and I couldn’t make myself heard.”

“Oh, all right. Maybe we were a bit hasty,” conceded Ned.

“But when we saw you sitting here, doing nothing but reading a detective story, we concluded you didn’t have anything else to do, and that you could just as well as not come to the ball game with us,” added Harry.

“I’d come in a minute if Uncle Joel hadn’t wished this job on me!” declared Bob. “But you know how it is – I’m not exactly my own boss.”

“Yes, we know,” admitted Harry.

Bob Dexter was an orphan, dependent on his uncle, and while Mr. Dexter was just and kind, still he had rights that must be respected, and Bob realized this.

“Uncle Joel is pretty good to me,” went on Bob. “And I’ve got to pay him back as much as I can. Look how he let me have a lot of time to myself going to Beacon Beach this summer.”

“And a mighty good thing you did go to Beacon Beach!” exclaimed Ned. “If you hadn’t the mystery there never would have been solved.”

“Oh, I guess some one else would have stumbled on it,” said Bob, modestly.

“I’m not so sure of that,” chimed in Harry. “Anyhow, we won’t bother you any more. Go on – finish the job, whatever it is.”

“Couldn’t you come to the ball game and do it afterward – whatever your uncle wants you to do?” asked Ned.

Bob shook his head.

“It can’t be done,” he replied. “If I can get over to the park later I’ll be there. I hope I can see the last half of the game, anyhow. But it’s like this. Mr. Sheldon, a man with whom my uncle does a lot of business of one kind or another, is sending some important papers on to-day to be signed. If they aren’t signed to-day it means the loss of a lot of money. Mr. Sheldon is passing through Cliffside on the train that gets here at 2:30. He hasn’t time to get off, as he has to go on to a conference with his lawyer. But he’s going to hand me the papers at the depot, when the train stops, and I’ve got to rush them up to my uncle’s office. That’s why I can’t go to the ball game.”

“Why doesn’t your uncle himself meet this Mr. Sheldon at the train and sign the papers?” asked Ned. “Oh why can’t some one else meet this man who’s in such a hurry?”

“I don’t know why it can’t be done that way, but it can’t, or my uncle wouldn’t ask me to do it,” said Bob, simply. “I suppose he has good reasons for not going to the train himself. And he doesn’t want to trust an ordinary messenger to get the papers. So I’ll have to do it. Then, after I get through, if there’s time enough, I’ll come to the game.”

“All right,” assented Harry, satisfied with this explanation. “We’ll try and save a seat for you – you know where we usually sit.”

“Yes, I know,” said Bob, as he laid his book just inside the front door.

“And if you’re going to meet that 2:30 train it’s time you got a move on,” added Ned.

“Yes, I’m going to start now,” said Bob. “Have to make a time allowance for the little old flivver,” he added with a laugh. “If you fellows like I’ll drop you off at the ball park.”

“Drop us off is good!” laughed Ned.

“If the old flivver doesn’t drop apart itself on the way down,” added Harry.

“Oh, I guess she’ll hold together that long,” chuckled the young detective – for Bob was just that, as some of you know, and as others of you will learn in the course of this story. Bob walked around to the side drive where stood an ancient and honorable automobile of the class generally called flivvers. Truly it was ancient, and Bob had added the title honorable, for it had given him good service in spite of the small price he paid for it.

“Can you get her going?” asked Ned, as he and his chum looked somewhat dubiously at the machine.

“Well, I don’t want to make any rash statements,” chuckled Bob, “but I think if I give her a good dose of talcum powder, and rub a lip stick on the carburetor she may be induced to give us service. Hop in and I’ll have a go at her.”