hide?" demanded Lance.
"Perhaps," said Dorothy.
"Maybe to find the robbers himself. Perhaps they are hiding here," said Dora.
"Likely," grunted Chet.
"We saw somebody hiding back yonder at the foot of Boulder Head," declared Dorothy.
"So we did! The lone pirate!" cried her sister.
"'The lone pirate'?" repeated Laura and Jess, in unison. "Who's that?"
The twins told them what they had seen – the bewhiskered man who had hidden behind the boulder. But the boys scoffed at the idea of the stranger having anything to do with the men who robbed the department store safe, or anything to do with Billy Long.
"No," said Chet, wearily, "He's gone somewhere. But we don't know where. And if the police catch him it will go hard with poor Short and Long."
CHAPTER III
TONY ALLEGRETTO
Now, "Short and Long," as the boys called him (christened William Henry Harrison Long) was a jolly little fellow and extremely popular at Centerport's Central High School – not so much with the teachers and adults of his acquaintance, perhaps, as with his fellow pupils. He was full of fun and mischief; but to the boys who knew him to be perfectly fair and honest, the accusation now aimed against him seemed preposterous.
It was true that his father was a poor man, and Billy Long seldom had any spending money. Naturally he was always on the outlook for "odd jobs" which would earn him a little something for his own pocket. He had been seen carrying the chain for the mysterious surveyors who had been in the vacant lot behind the department store that was robbed the Tuesday night previous to the opening of our story; but that should not have made trouble for Short and Long. He did not let many such chances escape him when he was out of school.
Billy was the short-stop on the Central High nine and as Chetwood Belding and Lance Darby were important members of that team, too, they were naturally particularly interested in the missing youth.
The three boys who had so unceremoniously left the motor boat Duchess still stood around the hot fire on the shore, drying their garments. Purt Sweet was really a pitiful sight, his fancy clothing looking so much worse than that of his two companions. The girls were in gales of laughter over his plight.
Laura repeated in a sing-song voice:
"Double, double, toil and trouble,
Garments steam and Purt does bubble!"
"Now, Miss Laura," complained the victim, "This is altogether too serious a matter, I assure you, for laughter. What ever shall we do to get home?"
"Well, we can't walk," chuckled Lance.
"Guess we'll have to appear on the Lady of the Lake" said Chet.
"My goodness! In this state?" mourned Purt. "Only fawncy!"
"You can't fly home," said Jess. "Somebody is bound to see you."
"Let's take off our shoes, wring out our socks, and put 'em on again, and then walk over to the amusement park," said Chet.
"And if you girls will paddle over we'll treat you to ice cream," added Lance.
"You are trying to bribe us – I see," declared Laura, laughing again.
"Just so," said Lance. "We'll stand treat if you don't tell everybody how we had to jump out of Purt's old boat."
There was a good deal of laughter at this; but finally the four girls agreed and the boys helped them into the water again with their canoes. It was not far to the amusement park at the west end of Cavern Island, and the three partially dried boys arrived there about the time that the two canoes reached the landing.
There was a good deal of fun while the seven young folks were eating the cream. Purt Sweet slunk into his seat in the corner, striving to hide his bedraggled apparel. He tucked a paper napkin into the front of his waistcoat, and so hid the hideous color scheme of the gaudy shirt, the stripes of which had spread with wondrous rapidity. Then he buttoned his coat tightly to hide the ruined waistcoat; but the coat was tight anyway, and the ducking had done it no good.
"I believe, on my life, Purt," chuckled Chet, "that the coat is shrinking on you. That tailor cheated you this time – I know he did. If the coat gets much smaller, and you eat much more ice cream, you'll burst through the coat at all the seams like a full-blown cotton-blossom."
"Better let me eat the ice cream for you, old man," advised Lance, seriously. "Don't make an exhibition of yourself here."
"That's what I am," said Purt, sadly. "Fawncy meeting any of the Stricklands, or the Tarbot-Rushes, or General Maline's people, here when I'm in this condition. Weally, it is dweadful to contemplate."
"It's tough, I allow," said Chet callously. "What you need is a mask and a blanket to disguise yourself."
"You're not likely to meet any of Centerport's Four Hundred over here at Cavern Island Park," laughed Laura. "So you need not fear."
"I should think you would be just as ashamed presenting yourself before us as before those Maline girls," said Jess, tossing her head. "I am insulted. No! you cannot pay for my ice cream, Mr. Sweet. Chet will pay for it."
"Gee, Jess," chuckled Lance Darby. "If you eat more'n two dishes Chet will go broke. I know the state of his finances to-day. And Purt always has plenty of money."
"Weally, Miss Morse," urged Pretty, who was not usually prone to spend his money. "Weally, you must let me pay the check – for all. It is my treat, you know. And I assure you, I had no intention of saying anything to offend you."
"But you consider those Maline girls – and they are the homeliest girls in Centerport – of more importance than Laura and Dora and Dorothy and me. You're not ashamed to appear before us with your outfit all smudged up!"
"But, my dear Miss Morse!" gasped Pretty.
"Don't you 'dear' me, Mister!" ejaculated Jess, with every appearance of anger. "If I'm not as good as Sissy Maline – "
"Oh, you are! You are!" declared Purt, in haste. "You misunderstand. I am in this horrid state. But – you see – you saw it happen and realize that it was an unavoidable accident – "
"Nothing of the kind!" snapped Jess, still apparently unyielding. "If you hadn't tried to smoke a nasty cigarette – "
"Oh, I assure you it was a very mild one. I have them made extremely mild – and with my monogram on the paper. Weally, you know – "
"Horrid thing! You're the only boy who smokes them that we know. What do you say, girls? Sha'n't we cut Purt right off of our calling lists if he doesn't give up monogrammed cigarettes?"
"They're the worst kind," murmured Chet. "The monogram makes 'em so much more deadly."
"I tried one of Purt's coffin nails once – ugh!" admitted Lance. "He calls 'em mild. But he's so saturated with nicotine that he doesn't know what 'mild' means. I believe they make his cigarettes out of rope-yarn and distilled opium. One puff made me ill all day."
"Impossible, dear boy!" gasped Purt.
"I
