"Quick, now, hand me the light and look out you don't trip on thewires. If they once get past Westy's house--g-o-o-d-_night!_ Justinside the garage door there you'll see a switch-turn it on. Here, takethe lantern. If Westy don't get this right, we'll kill him."
Tom, with but the haziest idea of what was to be done, followeddirections. It evidently had something to do with the mysterious "dotflares" and with his own mean act. These excited nocturnal activitieshad a certain charm, and if it wasn't mischief Roy was up to it had atleast all the attractive qualities of mischief.
"You'll see a book just inside the tent--paper covered--hand me thattoo, and come up yourself. Look out for the wires," cautioned Roy.
He opened the Scout Handbook to about the middle and laid it flat onthe tower rail.
"That's the Morse Code," said he, "easy as eating ice cream when youonce get the hang of it. I know it by heart but I'm going to let youread them to me so as to be sure. Better be sure than be sorry--hey? Ihope they don't speed that auto till we get through with them."
"Can he answer?" ventured Tom.
"No, they haven't got a car at Westy's and no searchlight. He brings methe message all writ, wrot, wrote out, in the morning. They've got adandy team there, though. Cracky, I'd rather have a pair of horses thanan auto any day, wouldn't you. Now be patient, Conny dear, and we'llsee what we can do for you."
"It's a long, long way to Tip--Hillside. Do you s'pose Westy's homeyet? Oh yes, sure, he must be. Well, here we go--take the lantern andread off the ones I ask for and get them right or I'll-make you eatanother plate of plum-duff! Feeding with intent to kill, hey?"
Tom couldn't help laughing; Roy's phrases had a way of popping out likea Jack-in-the-Box.
He had a small makeshift wooden bracket which stood on a grocery box onthe tower platform, and in this the auto searchlight swung.
"Wait a second now till I give him 'Attention' and then we're off.Guess you must have seen this light from downtown, hey?"
"Ye-re, I wondered what'twas."
"Well, here's where you find out."
There was a little click as he turned the switch, and then a longstraight column of misty light shot up into the darkness, bisecting theheavens. Far over to the west it swung, then far to the east, while Tomwatched it, fascinated. Then he heard the click of the switch again anddarkness reigned, save for the myriad stars.
It wac the first time in his life that Tom had ever been charged with areal responsibility, and he waited nervously.
"That meant, 'Get ready,'" said Roy. "We'll give him time to sharpenhis pencil. Do you pull much of a stroke with Machelsa, the Indianspirit? She smiles a smile at me once in a while, and if you want herto see you through any kind of a stunt you just rub your cheek with onehand while you pat your forehead with the other; try it."
"Can't do it, eh?" he laughed. "That's one of Mr. Ellsworth's stunts;he got us all started on that. You'd think the whole troop was crazy."
"I know him," said Tom.
"He's the worst of the lot," said Roy. "Well, off we go, let's have S-callthem dots and lines; some say 'dashes' but lines is quicker ifyou're working fast."
"Tree dots," said Tom.
Three sudden flashes shot up into the sky, quickly, one after another.
"Now T."
"Line," said Tom.
The switch clicked, and the long misty column rose again, remaining forseveral seconds.
"Now O."
"T'ree lines," said Tom, getting excited.
"Now P--and be careful--it's a big one."
"I'm on de job," said Tom, becoming more enthusiastic as he became moresure of himself. "Dot--line--line--dot."
The letter was printed on the open page of the heavens and down inBarrel Alley two of the O'Connor boys sitting on the rickety railingwatched the lights and wondered what they meant.
So, across the intervening valley to Westy's home, the message wassent. The khaki-clad boy, with rolled-up sleeves, whose brown hand heldthe little porcelain switch, was master of the night and of thedistance, and the other watched him admiringly.
Down at the Western Union office in Bridgeboro, the operator saunteredout in his shirtsleeves and smilingly watched the distant writing,which he understood.
Stop all autos send car withyoung folks back to Bennett's surenot practice serious.
"Good-night," said Roy, and two fanlike swings of the misty column toldthat it was over. "If they haven't passed Westy's yet, we win. Shake,Tom," he added, gayly, "You did fine--you're a fiend at it! Wouldn'tyou rather be here than at Conny's party--honest?"
"_Would I?_"
"Now we'll rustle down the hill and see the bunch co'me back--if theydo. Oh, cracky, don't you hope they do?"
"_Do I?_" said Tom.
"Like the Duke of Yorkshire, hey? Ever hear of him? Up the hill anddown again. We'll bring the sign up for a souvenir, what do you say?"
"Mebbe it oughter go back where it come from," said Tom, slowly.
"Guess you're right."
"Ever go scout's pace?" said Roy.
"What's that?"
"Fifty running-fifty walking. Try it and you'll use no other. Come on!The kind of pace you've always wanted," said Roy, jogging along."Beware of substitutes."
It was just about the time when Roy was showing Tom his camp that a bigtouring car rolled silently up to the outer gate of the Bennett place.(The house stood well back from the road.) The car was crowded withyoung people of both sexes, and it was evident from their expressionsof surprise and disappointment that they saw the yellow sign on thegate.
There were a few moments of debate; some one suggested tooting thehorn, but another thought that might disturb the patient; one proposedgoing to the house door and inquiring, while still another thought itwould be wiser not to. Some one said something about 'phoning in themorning; a girl remarked that the last time she saw Connover he had aheadache and looked pale, and indeed Connover's general weakness,together with the epidemic which prevailed in Bridgeboro, made theappearance of the sign perfectly plausible.
The upshot was that the auto rolled away and turned into the HillsideTurnpike. Scarcely had it gone out of sight when a patch of lightflickered across the lawn, the shade was drawn from a window and thefigure of Mrs. Bennett appeared peering out anxiously.
Ten minutes out of Bridgeboro, as the big car silently rolled upon theHillside Turnpike, one of its disappointed occupants (a girl) called,
"Oh, see the searchlight!"
"Oh, look," said another.
The long, misty column was swinging across the heavens.
"Now you see it, now you don't," laughed one of the fellows, as Tom'sutterance of "Dot," sent a sudden shaft of light into the sky and outagain as quickly.
"Where is it, do you suppose?" asked one of the girls.
"Does it mean anything?" asked another.
It meant nothing to them, for there was not a scout in the car. And yeta mile or two farther along the dark road there hung a lantern on anupright stick, directly in their path, and scrawled upon a board belowit was the word, "Stop."
Out of the darkness stepped a figure in a white sweater (for the nightwas growing cold) and a large-brimmed brown felt hat. One of his armswas braced akimbo on his hip, the other hand he laid on the wind shieldof the throbbing auto.
"Excuse me, did you come from Bennett's in Bridgeboro?"
"Yes, we did," said a musical voice.
"Then you'd better turn and go back; there's a message here which saysso."
"Back to Bennett's? Really?"
"I'll read it to you," said the boy in the white sweater.
He held a slip of yellow paper down in front of one of the acetyleneheadlights, and read,
"Stop all autos, send car with young folks back to Bennett's, sure."(He did not read the last three words on the paper.)
"Did you _ever_ in _all_ your _life_ know anything soperfectly extraordinary?" said a girl.
"You can turn better right up there," said Westy. He was
a quiet,uncommunicative lad.
The sign was gone from the Bennetts' gate when the car returned, andthe two boys standing in the shadow across the way, saw the party go upthe drive and disappear into the house; there was still plenty of timefor the festive program.
They never knew what was said on the subject of the sign and themysterious telegram.
They kept it up at Bennetts' till long after midnight. They played"Think of a Number," and "Button, button, who's got the button?" andwore tissue-paper caps which came out of tinselled snappers, and hadice cream and lady-fingers and macaroons and chicken salad.
When Connover went to bed, exhausted but happy, Mrs. Bennett trippedsoftly in to say good-night to him and to see that he had plenty offresh air by "opening the window a little at the top."
"Isn't it much better, dearie," she said, seating herself for a momenton the edge of the bed, "to find your pleasure right here than to betramping over the country and building bonfires, and getting yourclothing all filled with smoke from smudge signals, or whatever theycall them, and catching your death of cold playing with searchlights,like that Blakeley boy up on the hill? It's just a foolish, senselesspiece of business, taking a boy's thoughts away from home, and no goodcan ever come of it."
CHAPTER VI
HITTING THE BULL'S EYE