CHAPTER III

--"SPOOKS!"

"Spooks?" repeated Tom, with a stare of wonder.

"Spooks," echoed Ben, edging a trifle away from the open trap door.

"Call it that," said Mr. Edson, with a quiet smile. "Perhaps I had better say--mysterious happenings."

"What may they be, Mr. Edson?" inquired Ben, always interested in any sensational disclosures.

"Well, first--let me see," and the speaker reached over for a slip of documents held with others in a paper clip on the table; "yes, here it is--'Donner.'"

"Who's he?" inquired Tom, puzzled.

"Say rather what is he?" corrected Mr. Edson. "Frankly, I don't know."

"It's a name," observed Ben; "a man's name, isn't it?"

"I don't know that," responded Mr. Edson.

"Neither do the other fellows on the circuit. Perhaps I'd better explain, though, so when this Donner comes along you will be prepared for him."

"Yes, you have excited our curiosity and we'll be on the lookout," said Tom.

"Well, for nearly three weeks, at odd and unexpected times, with no sense or reason to it, no call or 'sine,' abruptly and mysteriously zip! the wires have gone, and in floats a jumbled, erratic message."

"As how?" propounded Ben.

"'Donner.' That always, first. It may be an explanation, it may be a name, it may mean nothing, but all the same splutter--splutter! on she comes. At first it was spelled out slowly, lamely, sometimes wrong, and then corrected as if an amateur beginner was at the other end of the line."

"And that was all--'Donner'" questioned Ben, aggravatingly consumed with curiosity.

"Not after a few days. Then 'Donner' began to add something of a message. That, too, was a jumble, wrong dots and dashes and all that. Finally, though, this queer crank of a sender began to say something about a boy."

"A boy?" murmured the engrossed Ben.

"It looked as if he was trying to describe some one. However, as I say, his sending was so faulty that not much could be made out of it. It got clearer, but no more coherent and enlightening. I tried to trace the sender. So did others on the circuit. I got in touch with Seagrove."

"What did they say? Mr. Edson?" asked Tom.

"They confessed themselves fully as much puzzled as I was. The last three or four days 'Donner' has gotten into action trying to tell something about money. First it was a hundred dollars, then two hundred, then five, and about an hour since the same old string of jangled talk came in over the receiver: 'Donner boy--a thousand dollars.'"

"How strange," commented Tom.

"Oh, you'll get some of it," declared Mr. Edson. "Early in the morning about daylight, always at noon, sometimes just about dusk, the message comes through the air."

"How do you explain it?" submitted Tom.

"Why, I have to think it is some person who has rigged up an old station somewhere in range, and is trying to tell something he is too ignorant to express clearly. Pay no attention to it as a serious circumstance. It is only one of the freaks of the wireless experience."

"That's one of the spooks you told about?" inquired Ben.

"Yes," nodded Mr. Edson.

"Any more?"

"Something more tangible this time," observed Mr. Edson. "For about a week some one has invaded my den here nights regularly."

"Maybe this same mysterious 'Donner'" suggested Ben.

"Hardly. You see, I am pretty regular in my hours here. I have come on at about eight in the morning and leave at six in the evening always."

"And the second spook you speak about?" interrogated Tom.

"Puts in an appearance after my departure in the night time. Here's the gist of it: Every morning when I come down here, the ground under the windmill for a space of about fifty feet is swept as clean as a ballroom floor."

"Yes, I've noticed that," observed Tom.

"I leave the den up here in some slight disorder evenings, preferring to put it in shape in the morning. Well," declared Mr. Edson, "I find it all cleaned up for me."

"You don't say so!" ejaculated Ben.

"Nothing is touched about the apparatus, my papers are not disturbed. One night I carelessly forgot my pocketbook. I found it placed carefully on the paper tab with the contents intact."

"Well, that's a helpful, honest, useful kind of a spook, isn't it, now?" cried Ben.

"I think this harmless intruder sleeps on the floor here nights," said Mr. Edson. "Anyhow, I've apprised you of the mysteries as well as the excellencies of Station Z. I must be going, Barnes," added Mr. Edson, consulting his watch and arising and taking up his satchel from a corner of the room. "Think over my proposition."

"I certainly shall," declared Tom, quickly.

"It's a dandy chance," remarked Ben.

"Use your best intelligence and judgment in running the business here until I come back," added Mr. Edson. "You can come down to the house with me if you like and get some stuff that will help you rig up your home-made wireless."

"All right," assented Tom, "I'd like to do that."

The professional operator followed his young guests down the ladder, locking the trap door padlock and tendering the key to Tom.

"You're in charge now," he said in a pleasant way.

Tom's finger tips tingled with pleasure at the possession of the key, and Ben's eyes brightened with glowing anticipations.

The boys waited outside on a bench on the porch of Mr. Edson's boarding house when they reached that place. He went up to his room and soon returned with an oblong box.

"You'll find the stuff in there I told you about," he explained.

"Many thanks," said Tom.

"I'm in that, too!" echoed Ben. "I only hope we can really rig up a plant at my house like you talk about," he added eagerly.

"That will be easy," advised Mr. Edson. "And now good-by, my young friends, and good luck."

Mr. Edson shook hands in a friendly way with Tom and Ben. The boys started down the village street in the direction of the Barnes home.

Ben walked as if he were treading on air. His comrade, carrying the box, was thoughtfully going over the great fund of information he had obtained in the preceding two hours.

"I say!" he spoke suddenly, coming to a halt.

"What's up?" challenged Ben.

"I was thinking it would be handier to leave this box at the station."

"I'm sure it would. You see, it's nearer our place," counselled Ben eagerly, glad of any excuse that would take them back to the fascinating influence of Station Z.

They faced about and proceeded back over the course they had come.

"Look here, Tom," broke in Ben on the thoughts of his comrade, "are you going to try and raise that hundred dollars?"

"Yes, if possible."

"Wish I could help you. Going to ask your father?"

"No," replied Tom. "In the first place, I don't think he would let me have it. You know he calls my craze after wireless, as he terms it, all a fad,--says I'd better think of getting through school before I take up outside things."

"Yes, I know."

"Then again," continued Tom, "I have a sort of pride of starting in business life on my own resources."

"But you've got to have some money help."

"I've thought of that, and I'll tell you what I'll do. You remember my Aunt Samantha?"

"Down at Westport?"

"Exactly. I have always been a favorite of hers. Many a time she has hinted at all the money she is going to leave me in her will some day. Many a time, too, after a visit to our house, she has reminded me that any time I need help to write her."

"And you're going to?"

"Yes," replied Tom, "just as soon as I get home this evening. I'm going to offer her my note, and I mean to pay it, too."

"Say, Tom," cried his loyal companion, "I'll endorse for you."

Tom had to laugh outright at the proposal.

Then, seeing that he had hurt Ben's feelings, he said kindly:

"That's all right, Ben; you mean well, but if Aunt Samantha won't let me have the money alone, she won't give it to the two of us."

It had been growing dusk as the chums proceeded on their way. They passed through the village and beyond it, and finally approached the wireless station. Tom was fumbling in his pocket for the key to the trap door when Ben suddenly caught his arm.

"Tom, hold on!"

"What's the matter?" questioned Tom.

"Look yonder!"

Ben pointed directly at the old windmill framework. Both stared intently.

Climbing up one of the outer girders was a boy. As he reached the level of the window of the little aerial room aloft, he swung towards it, in some deft way lifted or pried up the sash, and disappeared suddenly from view.

[Illustration: BEN POINTED DIRECTLY AT THE OLD WINDMILL FRAMEWORK.]

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