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"I'll try," Dick answered. It was several days after the events narrated in the last chapter. The wireless, sending out its crackling call, had brought speedy help from the army post, and the two lieutenants were taken to the hospital by their fellow soldiers. Larson recovered consciousness before Dick and his friends left, but was delirious, and practically insane.
Tom Rover wins!" was the cry, and many rushed forward to congratulate him, while Larson and Jackson retired as quickly as they could and in great disgust. The next contest was a dash of two hundred yards and was won by a boy named Bird. "He's a bird!" sang out Tom loudly, and at this the crowd laughed heartily.
"How do you do?" greeted Dick, as he met Larson in the library. "I'm glad to see you." This was polite fiction, that, perhaps, might be pardoned. "I don't want to trouble you, Mr. Hamilton," went on the lieutenant, with a shifty glance around the room, "but I have left the army, and have engaged in the building of airships.
At one time I went to Hereford, Minnesota to preach for Brother George Green while he went on a trip to Iowa. At the Sunday morning service I learned that Elder Larson had met with an automobile accident the night before, breaking his left arm in two places and had been taken to the hospital at Barrett. His father phoned me that he would call for me and take me with him to the hospital.
With a throb and a roar, the motor took up the increase, and whirled the big propellers with mighty force. Then, in a last endeavor to prevent the collision, Mr. Vardon sent the craft down at a sharp slant, intending to dive under the other. But this move was anticipated by Larson, who was steering the Larabee.
"Yes, boy." "Listen! Oh, Larry, s-s-h " Matt Larson turned on his back, every nerve strung to snapping pitch. Two whispering voices assailed his ears. The horror of them seemed to grip his heart and stop its very beating. Fox-Foot was speaking. "You's not a good man. I hate you. You's bad all over, but I have to trust you. You got me cornered. Here's the gold, same's I promised. You take half.
Barring Olga Larson, the chorus was probably unanimous, Rose reflected, in looking at it like that. They accounted for her having got a job in the first place at Grant's expense, and a promotion so soon thereafter to the sextette, by assuming that John Galbraith had a sentimental interest in her.
"You and I are just going to be pals. All hands up north call me Larry I suppose it's short for Larson so it's Larry to you, isn't it, old man?" "Yes, Larry," replied Jack, with all his heart warming to this extraordinarily handsome, genial relative, "and I think we will be pals, all right," he continued.
Holly, please?" faltered the boy, hurrying toward the barn door. "Maybe he would know about father. Oh, there he is!" And David ran out of the barn and across the yard to the kitchen porch. It was an unhappy ten minutes that David spent then. Besides Mr. Holly, there were Mrs. Holly, and the man, Perry Larson. And they all talked. But little of what they said could David understand.
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