CHAPTER V

“THE RIGHT KIND”

“Oh, say, Dave, what’s happened, anyway?” burst out the irrepressible Hiram.

“You see,” observed Dave, with a sweeping wave of his hand.

“Yes, I see,” said Grimshaw. “But you never ran the _Gossamer_ into all this!”

“No, I wasn’t the pilot on this occasion,” admitted Dave.

“I told you so!” cried Hiram, jubilantly. “When we first saw the airship and its queer doings, and ran after it, didn’t I tell you that Dave couldn’t be at the wheel, Mr. Grimshaw?”

“You did, and I felt sure he wasn’t,” commented Grimshaw. “Who was?” he challenged, bluntly.

“That’s quite a story,” explained Dave.

“Then tell it.”

“I don’t want much said about it for the present,” stipulated the young aviator.

“All right,” nodded Grimshaw.

Dave motioned his friends out of earshot of the gardener, who was pottering about his broken panes. Then he told the whole story.

“Why, the wretches!” growled old Grimshaw, fiercely, when the narrative was concluded.

“The mean sneaks!” exclaimed the indignant Hiram. “Left you here in that fix, not knowing whether you were dead or alive.”

“I’d have those two rascals locked up, double-quick,” advised Grimshaw.

“No,” dissented Dave.

“Why not?”

“I want to think things over a bit, before I decide on what I shall do,” was the reply. “I have no patience with the fellow called Vernon.”

“Take my word for it, he’s a bad one,” declared Grimshaw.

“The other one—young Brackett—I feel sorry for.”

“Of course you do,” observed Grimshaw, rather sarcastically; “that’s your usual way. Who’s going to pay for the damage here? Say, you take my advice—teach those two smart Alecks a lesson by having them arrested, and send the bill to Mr. Brackett, telling him all the circumstances.”

“I’d a good deal rather help young Brackett than harm him,” said Dave, considerately. “He doesn’t strike me as a bad fellow at heart. It’s the influence of Vernon that is leading him into trouble.”

“How’s the machine?”

“Not in very bad shape. I think there are enough tools and materials aboard to mend her up till we get home.”

All three of them looked the _Gossamer_ over critically. Expert that he was, old Grimshaw soon had the machine free of the trellis and the injured parts repaired. Dave went over to the gardener, who was figuring on the side of a fence post with a piece of chalk.

“Well, my friend,” he said cheerily; “what’s the damage?”

“Why, you’re acting so handsomely about it, I want to make the bill as reasonable as I can,” was the reply.

“Of course you do—that’s the right way.”

“The frames aren’t much broken,” explained the man. “About all there is to do is to replace the glass.”

“Yes, but there’s a heap of it,” said Dave.

“We buy the panes by the gross. I’m willing to do the setting and puttying myself. I think twenty dollars will cover everything.”

Dave took out his pocket book, selected some bank bills, and handed them to the man. He heard an ominous growl from old Grimshaw behind him, and caught a “S’t! S’t! S’t!” from the exasperated Hiram. Dave, however, had his own ideas as to disposing of the matter in hand.

“If you find it’s more, you know where to see me,” said Dave to the gardener.

“Say, you’re an easy one,” observed Grimshaw, with a look of disgust on his face.

“It’s a shame to let those vandals go scot free,” scolded Hiram.

“I’m glad the _Gossamer_ didn’t get smashed up, as I feared,” was all the young aviator would reply.

Dave made pretty sure that the machine would stand a trip back to the enclosure. To his satisfaction he made the flight without any mishap. Looking the craft over more critically after the return, however, he decided that the wings and floats would need some expert attention before he could venture any extended flight.

It was dark by the time they got the airship housed and supper ready in the living tent. After the meal Hiram strolled away, saying he would go to town after the evening mail. Dave and Grimshaw went inside the tent as a shower came up. They chatted agreeably, watching the gentle rain in the glint of the tent light.

“Hello,” said the old man, bending his ear sharply.

“Yes,” nodded Dave, “some one is knocking at the gate.”

“I’ll go and see who it is.”

“Maybe it’s Hiram.”

“No, he’s got a key.”

Grimshaw went away. Dave heard him talking with someone outside the gate. He was a little surprised as his old friend secured the gate after him. He was further puzzled to note the expression on Grimshaw’s face as he came back into the tent.

“Who was it, Mr. Grimshaw?” questioned Dave.

“Humph! he didn’t get in. Now see here, you take my advice and don’t run into another trap.”

“Another trap?”

“That’s what I said. There’s a fellow out there that wants to see you. He’s mighty meek and humble, but from what you told me I guess pretty straight that he’s the chap who tried to run the _Gossamer_ this afternoon.”

“Is he alone?” asked Dave, rising quickly from the camp stool.

“Yes, he’s alone. If the bigger fellow had been with him I’d have licked him.”

“And he wants to see me?” questioned Dave.

“Mealy mouthed and subdued, just that.”

“Why didn’t you invite him in?”

“Why didn’t I? Say, Dave Dashaway!” stormed the old man, “I believe in forgiving dispositions, but drat me if I’d quite let a trouble-maker like that young Brackett get a second chance to mix things up.”

“I hardly think he means any harm this time,” said Dave, and hurried to the gate.

Outside, a patch of sticking plaster over one eye and one arm in a sling, and looking rather mean and ashamed, young Brackett dropped his glance as Dave appeared.

“Come in, won’t you?” invited the young aviator, quite heartily.

“No, I don’t think I’d better,” replied his visitor, in a low tone. “See here, Dashaway, I’ve got my senses back, and I don’t want you or anybody else to think I’m some cheap cad.”

“Certainly not,” responded Dave. “What’s the trouble?”

“I’ve come to give you this money,” explained Brackett, extending his hand. “As soon as I got enough over being scared to feel ashamed of myself, I slipped away from that confounded Vernon. He’s always getting me into trouble.”

“What do you run with him for, then?” questioned Dave, gently. “See here,” he added, placing his hand in a friendly way on the boy’s shoulder; “you may be headstrong and foolish at times, but that man doesn’t belong in your class.”

“You’re just right,” began Brackett, in a spirited way, and then, as if he feared to go farther into the subject, he added in a moody, dissatisfied tone: “Never mind about that. I’ve come to pay you back the twenty dollars you gave to the man down at the greenhouses. I went to pay him myself, but you had gotten ahead of me. I can’t let you stand for one cent of damage I did, and if there’s any other expense——”

“None at all,” Dave hastened to say. “See here, you’ve shown me you are the right sort. I don’t like that man Vernon, and down at heart I don’t think you do, either.”

“It don’t matter whether I do or not,” muttered the boy. “I don’t dare to break away from him till—well till—I feel I’m safe out of his clutches.”

“If you are in any foolish trouble——” began Dave.

“I won’t discuss it,” declared young Brackett, quite stormily. “Take the money, and—see here, Dashaway, I’ll give worlds to keep this from the old man.”

“You mean your father?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you say so, then,” upbraided Dave.

Young Brackett bit his lip.

“I’ll try to after this,” he promised, quite humbly. “That’s all,” he added, as Dave took the bank notes.

“I do wish you’d make a friend of me and let me help you out, if it will do any good,” said Dave, wistfully.

Brackett dropped his head. Then he gave it a savage jerk.

“You’re all right, Dashaway,” he said, “but I’ve got to pay for my fast sledding, and I’ll do it like a man.”

“Come and see me again,” invited Dave.

“Hardly,” responded Brackett. “Our paths probably won’t cross again—and you’re probably the gainer for it.”

“I don’t know that,” declared Dave. “Rest easy on one score—I shall not say anything to your father about to-day’s scrape.”

“Thank you, Dashaway.”

“But I wish you would tell him. Come, now—he’s your best friend. If you’ve been a little wild, go to him and tell him about it.”

“A little wild!” repeated Brackett. Then he gave a bitter laugh, waved his hand at Dave, and disappeared in the darkness.

“Poor fellow!” said Dave, thoughtfully. “I’m afraid, as he hinted, he is in the clutches of that sharper, Vernon. I wish I knew a way to help him out.”

Dave re-entered the enclosure a good deal subdued. Young Brackett had said that their paths might never cross again. Dave hoped if they ever did cross his late visitor would be in a better frame of mind.

Their paths were to cross, indeed, although neither of them realized it at that moment. Dave Dashaway was to hear of him again very soon, and in a truly remarkable way.