CHAPTER XXVI

HARRY LEARNS SOMETHING

“Now for some grand, up-to-date advertising!”

“Right you are, Joe, and won’t the country folks and town folks, too, be surprised when they see these handbills dropping from the sky?”

“I hope we don’t scare any horses.”

“Oh, horses don’t scare so easily as they did--now that they have to put up with autos and such things.”

The posters and handbills had been printed--a hundred of the former and many thousands of the latter--and evenly divided among the four towns to be represented at the aero meet. Now the boys were getting ready to distribute the advertising matter to the best advantage.

The aircraft boys of Lakeport had divided the handbills into five bundles and the posters into two bundles. Bart did not enjoy flying, so to him had been delegated the task of hanging up the posters in Lakeport and distributing some handbills about the place. Then lots were cast by the other four boys, and to Harry fell the task of taking the other bundle of posters and some handbills and visiting several neighboring towns on his bicycle, leaving the advertising at the post-offices and stores. All the other handbills were to be taken up in the biplane by Joe, Fred, and Link, working two at a time. While one youth sailed the _Skylark_ the other was to scatter the bills so that folks might catch and read them.

“Sorry you aren’t to go up with us, Harry,” said Fred, after matters had been arranged.

“Oh, I’ll get some fun out of it, wheeling to places with the posters and handbills,” answered the younger Westmore lad. “And I’ll do some flying when the contests come off--don’t forget that.”

“Sure--and you must win, too,” answered the stout youth. “That is what I am going to try to do.”

The first to go up in the biplane were Joe and Link, and as they set off with the handbills the others let up a cheer. Just for fun Link dropped several handbills, and one fell right into the hands of Laura Westmore, and she took it and waved it gayly at those sailing away.

“Well, here is where I do my share of the work,” announced Harry, when the biplane was out of sight, and strapping his pack of posters and handbills on his back, he hopped on his bicycle and started for Camdale and other towns in that vicinity.

The first-named place was quickly reached, and he had little trouble in getting permission to hang posters in the post-office and in a hotel and in the main stores. Occasionally some man would ask if he wasn’t going to give an admission ticket for the privilege, but when Harry explained that the aero meet was largely for charity, no more would be said about a free entrance to the grounds.

By noon the younger Westmore boy had visited three towns, and distributed nearly half of his posters and handbills. He was rather tired, and glad enough to sit down by the roadside and eat the generous lunch his mother had packed up for him, washing it down with some milk purchased at a farmhouse.

While he was seated there he saw a farm wagon approaching at a slow gait. It was drawn by a pair of big horses, and on the seat, with a battered felt hat on his head, sat a youth whose face was a mass of freckles.

“Hello, Teddy Dugan!” cried Harry, as the turnout drew closer.

“Sure an’ if it ain’t Harry Westmore!” cried the Irish lad who had camped out on Pine Island with the other boys and who had also acted as a substitute on the baseball club. “What be ye doin’ here, Harry?”

“I’m distributing posters and circulars of our aero meet,” was the reply. “That is, I have been. Just now I’m resting and having lunch. Have a cookie?” and Harry held one out.

“I don’t want to rob you,” answered the Irish lad, gazing wistfully at the golden-colored cake.

“Oh, I’ve got more, Teddy. Here, take it, and here is some milk too, if you want it.”

Teddy was glad enough to rest, being on a long journey from his home to Camdale. He drew up at the roadside, and soon he was beside Harry and enjoying the cookie.

“It’s great doin’s you b’ys is up to,” he remarked. “First the gun club, thin the baseball club, nixt the boat club, an’ afther that the football club an’ the automobile tour, an’ now a flyin’ machine! Say, phwat will yez be at nixt?”

“I don’t know, Teddy. School, most likely. It opens in a couple of weeks.”

“Yis, I know that, fer I’m to go meself. Say, how do you like flyin’?”

“It’s great, Teddy. You must come to our aero meet.” And Harry held out one of the handbills.

“Sure, an’ I’ll be there, Harry. An’ oh, say! I’ve got somethin’ to tell ye!” burst out the Irish lad.

“To tell me?”

“Yis. I was goin’ to sthop at Lakeport an’ let ye know, but it clane slipped me mind--I had so much to buy at Camdale fer me father. It’s about that man as give ye the flyin’ machine, Mr. Andrew Akers. Me father saw him.”

“Saw him? Where?” And now Harry was all attention.

“Over along the river, near Shag’s Island. Me father was over to a farm there, to buy a horse, an’ he said he saw this Mr. Akers an’ another man at the river bank, gittin’ into a boat.”

“When was this?”

“Yisterday afternoon.”

“I didn’t know your father knew Mr. Akers?”

“But he does, Harry. Sure an’ didn’t he hilp the old gentleman git his flyin’ machine out o’ a tree onct? That’s how he got to know him.”

“Who was the man with Mr. Akers?”

“He was a stranger, but me father thinks he saw the feller several times in Brookside.”

“Then it must have been Mr. Mason or Mr. Chase!” murmured the younger Westmore youth. “I am glad to know this, Teddy. I’ll have it looked into at once!”

“If yez want to find Mr. Akers I hope yez are able to do it,” answered the Irish lad; and then, having finished his cookie, and taken a swallow of the cool milk, he drove on.

A little while later Harry continued his journey to the next village, to leave his posters and handbills. As he wheeled along his thoughts were busy.

“If that was Mr. Akers, and Mr. Mason or Mr. Chase was with him, where were they going?” was the question he asked himself over and over again.

He had once visited Shag’s Island, a lonely and rocky place, located in the center of a broad, shallow stream flowing into the lake. It was situated about a mile from where was located the deserted hut he and the others had visited, when looking for Andrew Akers before.

“Those men must have taken Mr. Akers somewhere,” reasoned the younger Westmore lad. “Maybe they took him to Shag’s Island after they had him at the hut.”

Harry hurried as much as he could, and by dark he had all of his posters and handbills distributed. Then he pedaled for home, anxious to tell his brother about what he had heard.

“I won’t tell dad or the others,” he reasoned. “I’ll just tell Joe, and we can investigate this between us. No use of getting all the others excited until we are sure we are really on the right trail.”

But when he reached home Harry was confronted by a disappointment. Joe had telephoned in from a distant village that he was going to remain at that place with Link all night and work back towards Lakeport in the morning.

“Oh, most likely he won’t be home till dark,” murmured Harry to himself. “Guess I’ll have to tell Fred or Bart.”

But in the end he told nobody and resolved to investigate by himself. He knew he could run over to the river on his wheel in less than an hour, and another hour would suffice to row over to Shag’s Island and back, provided he could get a boat.

“And if I can’t get a boat I can wade or swim over,” he told himself. “It’s rather cold, but I guess I can manage it.”

He started off the next morning, directly after breakfast. He had a few handbills left, so his folks did not question him, thinking he meant to distribute these. He had his lunch with him again, so would be able to spend the whole day in the search.

It was a clear day, with little or no wind--which was a good thing for those distributing the handbills from the aeroplanes. Harry knew the road well, and soon passed through the lower end of Lakeport and over the bridge on the sawmill turnpike. Then he pedaled past several farms and through a woods, coming out presently on the highway bordering the river on which Shag’s Island was located.

As I have said before, the river was broad but shallow, and in many spots rocks and sandbars showed themselves. Here and there were small islands, overgrown with bushes and stunted pines. In many places the stream was less than a foot deep.

“The water seems to be pretty low,” thought the youth. “More than likely I can find some place where I can wade to Shag’s Island. I’d rather do that than look around for a boat.”

As Harry passed around a curve of the road and river, he looked out in the stream and uttered an exclamation of surprise. Then he slackened his speed, came to a halt, and jumped off his bicycle.

He had come to a stop at a place where the sandbars of the river were thick. Out among them lay a motor boat, the bow of the craft buried deeply in the sand. The motor was not running and the boat was apparently deserted.

“Unless I miss my guess it is Si Voup’s craft,” muttered Harry. “But if it is, what is it doing in such an out-of-the-way place? Si must know it’s not deep enough here for such a boat as that.”

Curious to know how the motor boat had gotten in its present position, and why it was abandoned, Harry leaned his wheel against a tree and walked out on the rocks lining the shore. By leaping from one rock to another he was able to get within a rod or so of the stranded craft without wetting his feet.

“Yes, it’s Si’s boat right enough,” he murmured to himself. “She must have been here since yesterday, or longer.”

He was wondering if he could get over to the craft by wading, and had just sat down on a flat rock to take off his shoes and socks and try it, when there came a rude hail from the road.

“Hi, you! What are you doing there?”

Harry gazed around and saw Si Voup standing near. He had arrived on a bicycle, accompanied by Ike Boardman, and each carried a rope and a shovel.

“Is this your boat, Si?” asked Harry, not knowing what else to say.

“You know well enough it’s my boat!” answered the rich bully. “Have you been on board? Did you dare to touch the engine?” went on Si, in alarm.

“No, I haven’t been any nearer than I am now. I just got here.”

“Well, you clear out and let my boat alone.”

“How did it get here?” asked Harry, and now he tied his shoelaces again, and stood up on the flat rock.

“That’s my business, Harry Westmore. You just go on your way and let my boat alone.”

“All right, Si--just as you say,” answered the younger Westmore boy coldly, and prepared to leap from rock to rock to the shore again.

As he did this Si and Ike came down from the roadway and stood on the rocks near the shore. Each looked at the other and most likely the same thought occurred to both.

“Shall we shove him in, Ike?” whispered the bully.

“Yes, if we get the chance,” returned his crony.

Both leaped to the next rock, further out in the stream. As they did this, Harry also essayed to gain that footing. Just as he sprang forward, Si and Ike placed themselves at the edge of the rock and put out their elbows.

“Look out!” cried Harry, “or you’ll shove me overboard!” Then, as he saw that the others meant him to lose his balance, he clutched at the leg of each. Down went Si and Ike, and the next instant all three lads were floundering in the cold water of the river.