do you think? I just saw that rascal, Ward Porton!” burst out Dave.
“Porton! You don’t mean it? Where is he?”
“He was standing under that light when I drove out from the stable. I ran to speak to him, and then he took to his legs and scooted around yonder corner. I went after him, but by the time I got on the side street he was out of sight.”
“Is that so! It’s too bad you couldn’t catch him, Dave. I suppose you would have liked to talk to him.”
“That’s right, Ben. And maybe I might have had him arrested, although now that he has been exposed, and now that Link Merwell is in jail, I don’t suppose it would have done much good.”
“It’s queer he should show himself so close to Crumville. One would think that he would want to put all the distance possible between himself and your folks.”
“That’s true, Ben. Maybe he is up to some more of his tricks.”
The girls were on the lookout for the boys, and now, having bundled up well, they came from the restaurant, and all got into the sleigh once more. Then they turned back in the direction of Crumville, this time, however, taking a route which did not go near Conover’s Hill.
“Oh, Dave! were you sure it was that Ward Porton?” questioned his sister, when he had told her and Jessie about the appearance of the former moving-picture actor.
“I was positive. Besides, if it wasn’t Porton, why would he run away?”
“I sincerely hope he doesn’t try to do you any harm, Dave,” said Jessie, and gave a little shiver. “I was hoping we had seen the last of that horrid young man.”
“Why, Jessie! You wouldn’t call him horrid, would you, when he looks so very much like Dave?” asked Ben, mischievously.
“He doesn’t look very much like Dave,” returned the girl, quickly. “And he doesn’t act in the least like him,” she added loyally.
“It’s mighty queer to have a double that way,” was the comment of the real estate man’s son. “I don’t know that I should like to have somebody else looking like me.”
“If you couldn’t help it, you’d have to put up with it,” returned Dave, briefly. And then he changed the subject, which, as the others could plainly see, was distasteful to him.
As they left Clayton the moon came up over a patch of woods, flooding the snowy roadway with subdued light. In spite of what had happened, all of the young folks were in good spirits, and they were soon laughing and chatting gaily. Ben started to sing one of the old Oak Hall favorites, and Dave and the girls joined in. The grays were now behaving themselves, and trotted along as steadily as could be desired.
When the sleighing-party reached Crumville they left Ben Basswood at his door, and then went on to the Wadsworth mansion.
“Did you have a fine ride?” inquired Mrs. Wadsworth, when the young folks bustled into the house.
“Oh, it was splendid, Mamma!” cried her daughter. “Coming back in the moonlight was just the nicest ever!”
“Did those grays behave themselves?” questioned Mr. Wadsworth, who was present. “John said they acted rather frisky when he brought them out.”
“Oh, they were pretty frisky at first,” returned Dave. “But I finally managed to get them to calm down,” he added. The matter had been discussed by the young folks, and it had been decided not to say anything about the runaway unless it was necessary.
On the following morning Dave had to apply himself diligently to his studies. Since leaving Oak Hall he had been attending a civil engineering class in the city with Roger, and had, in addition, been taking private tutoring from a Mr. Ramsdell, a retired civil engineer of considerable reputation, who, in years gone by, had been a college friend of Dave’s father. Dave was exceedingly anxious to make as good a showing as possible at the coming examinations.
“Here are several letters for you, David,” said old Mr. Potts to him late that afternoon, as he entered the boy’s study with the mail. “You seem to be the lucky one,” the retired professor continued, with a smile. “All I’ve got is a bill.”
“Maybe there is a bill here for me, Professor,” returned Dave gaily, as he took the missives handed out.
Dave glanced at the envelopes. By the handwritings he knew that one letter was from Phil Lawrence and another from Shadow Hamilton, one of his old Oak Hall chums, and a fellow who loved to tell stories. The third communication was postmarked Coburntown, and in a corner of the envelope had the imprint of Asa Dickley.
“Hello! I wonder what Mr. Dickley wants of me,” Dave mused, as he turned the letter over. Then he remembered how sour the store-keeper had appeared when they had met the day before. “Maybe he wants to know why I haven’t bought anything from him lately.”
Dave tore open the communication which was written on one of Asa Dickley’s letterheads. The letter ran as follows:
“Mr. David Porter.
“Dear Sir:
“I thought when I saw you in Coburntown to-day that you would come in and see me; but you did not. Will you kindly let me know why you do not settle up as promised? When I let you have the goods, you said you would settle up by the end of the week without fail. Unless you come in and settle up inside of the next week I shall have to call the attention of your father to what you owe me.
CHAPTER V
WHAT ASA DICKLEY HAD TO SAY
Dave read the letter received from Mr. Asa Dickley with much interest. He went over it twice, and as he did so the second time his mind reverted to the communication received the morning before from Mr. Wecks.
“What in the world does Mr. Dickley mean by writing to me in this fashion?” he mused. “I haven’t had anything from him in a long while, and I don’t owe him a cent. It certainly is a mighty strange proceeding, to say the least.”
Then like a flash another thought came into his mind–was Ward Porton connected in any way with this affair?
“Somebody must have gotten some things in my name from Mr. Dickley, and he must have gotten those shoes from Mr. Wecks, too. If the party went there in person and said he was Dave Porter, I don’t think it could have been any one but Ward Porton, because, so far as I know, he’s the only fellow that resembles me.”
Our hero was so much worried that he gave scant attention to the letters received from Phil Lawrence and Shadow Hamilton, even though those communications contained many matters of interest. He was looking at the Dickley communication for a third time when his sister entered.
“Well, Dave, no more bad news I hope?” said Laura, with a smile.
“It is bad news,” he returned. “Just read that;” and he turned the letter over to her.
“If you owe Mr. Dickley any money you ought to pay him,” said the sister, after perusing the epistle. “I don’t think father would like it if he knew you were running into debt,” and she gazed anxiously at Dave.
“Laura! You ought to know me better than
