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Updated: June 18, 2025
But, like Dan, I believe there's a way to be found." "Going?" asked Hazelton. "Well, I'll trot along, too." "Yes," nodded Greg. "It's a shame to stay here, hardening Dick's mattress when he ought to be lying on it himself. It's time we were all in bed. Good night, Dick, old fellow." Four of the boys were speedily gone.
Bascomb, plainly taken aback. "Oh, we're not millionaires," Tom laughed easily. "Yet I fancy Hazelton and I could raise enough money to fight any breach-of-contract case in court. With a steady-paying mine, you know, we could even discount to some extent the earnings of future years." "Oh, well, we don't want hard feelings," urged Mr. Bascomb, his manner becoming more peaceable.
"What the man on the clubhouse steps said is a secret, and I'm not going to tell you, just yet, anyway. Some day I'll tell you." So Harry Hazelton started the ball rolling with a story. When it was finished Greg rose and went to the window at the rear of the cabin. "I can't see any lights in the shack," he called back. "I guess Fits must have turned in."
Prenter continued. "What we want to do is to solve this mystery. You stay here, Hazelton. I'll go back alone and find a 'bus or a carriage. Then we'll go back to camp and hold a council of war. Something must be done, and we'll decide how it's to be done." Mr. Prenter, though no longer a young man, proved that he carried both speed and agility in his feet.
This was not quite the time to impart it to his chums, however, so he held his peace and did his best to save his wind. Thus half a mile, at least, was quickly traversed. By this time the high school boys, running as they had done, began to feel winded. "I can't go any further," gasped Hazelton, halting and leaning against a tree.
"Reade, I'm not sure that I remember aright, but I think -I think -you and Hazelton were correct about that. I -wish I could -remember." Bill Blaisdell closed his eyes, and his voice trailed off into murmurs that none around him could understand. Even Reade, with his very slight experience in such matters, realized that the acting chief was a very sick man.
Through the night, had it not been for the patrols walking up and down the line of wall with lanterns, it would have been hard to realize that the big breakwater was haunted by any such desperately practical group of "ghosts." "I guess we've heard the last of the rascals," suggested Harry Hazelton one night at supper. Messrs.
"Out with it!" insisted Hazelton. Dick shook his head. "Now, don't be mean," insisted Danny Grin. "Dick, you owe it to us, almost, to let us get a little look at the machinery that's moving in the back of your head." "I haven't an August plan -at least, not one that is clear enough for me to submit it and put it to vote before you," Dick went on.
Enough fuel to start a fire in the morning was also brought in. "And now, what did we come out here in the woods for?" inquired Dick smilingly. "To get our fill of sleep," yawned Tom. "To eat," suggested Hazelton hopefully. "To fish," added Dave Darrin promptly. "Just to lie down and take things easy," declared Danny Grin.
Yet, but for one fact, Hazelton would have risen with his man, and would have hurled the mysterious one over into the waters of the gulf. Just in the instant of victory Harry's injured right foot gave out under him. With a stifled groan he sank down just as he threw his opponent. The black, instead of going into the water, landed hard on his back on the top of the wall.
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