Ted and the Telephone by Sara Ware Bassett (best short books to read txt) 📕

will not only serve as a warning to the Fernalds but it will mean the loss of a big lot of money. They will rebuild, of course, but it will take time, and in the interval everything will be at a standstill."

"It will throw several hundred men out of work," Sullivan objected.

"That can't be helped," retorted Cronin. "They will get out at least with their lives and will be almighty thankful for that. They can get other jobs, I guess. But even if they are out of work, I figure some of them won't be so sorry to see the Fernalds get what's coming to them," chuckled Cronin.

"You're right there, Jim!"

"I'll bet I am!" cried Cronin.

"Then your notion would be to plant time bombs at the factories so they will go off in the night?"

"Yes," confessed Cronin, a shadow of regret in his tone. "That will carry off only a few watchmen and engineers. Mighty tough luck for them."

"It can't be helped," Sullivan said ruthlessly. "You can't expect to carry through a thing of this sort without some sacrifice. All we can do is to believe that the end justifies the means. It's a case of the greatest good to the greatest number."

"I—suppose—so."

"Well, then, why hesitate?"

"I ain't hesitating," announced Cronin quickly. "I just happened to remember Maguire. He's one of the night watchmen at the upper mill and a friend of mine."

"But we can't remember him, Cronin," Sullivan burst out. "It is unlucky that he chances to be on duty, of course; but that is his misfortune. We'd spare him if we could."

"I know, I know," Cronin said. "It's a pitiless business." Then, as if his last feeble compunction vanished with the words, he added, "It's to be the mills, then."

"Yes. We seem to be agreed on that," Sullivan replied eagerly. "I have everything ready and I don't see why we can't go right ahead to-night and plant the machines with their fuses timed for early morning. I guess we can sneak into the factories all right—you to the upper mill and I to the lower. If you get caught you can say you are hunting for Maguire; and if I do—well, I must trust to my wits to invent a story. But they won't catch me. I've never been caught yet, and I have handled a number of bigger jobs than this one," concluded he with pride.

"Anything more you want to say to me?" asked Cronin.

"No, I guess not. I don't believe I need to hand you any advice. Just stiffen up, that's all. Anything you want to say to me?"

"No. I shan't worry my head about you, you old fox. You're too much of a master hand," Cronin returned, with an inflection that sounded like a grin. "I imagine you can hold up your end."

"I rather imagine I can," drawled Sullivan.

"Then if there's nothing more to be said, I move we start back to town. It must be late," Cronin asserted.

"It's black enough to be midnight," grumbled Sullivan. "We'd best go directly to our houses—I to mine and you to yours. The explosives and bombs I'll pack into two grips. Yours I'll hide in your back yard underneath that boat. How'll that be?"

"O. K."

"You've got it straight in your head what you are to do?"

"Yes."

"And I can count on you?"

"Sure!"

"Then let's be off."

There was a splash as the canoe slipped into the water and afterward Ted heard the regular dip of the paddles as the craft moved away. He listened until the sound became imperceptible and when he was certain that the conspirators were well out of earshot he sped to the telephone and called up the police station at Freeman's Falls. It did not take long for him to hurriedly repeat to an officer what he had heard. Afterward, in order to make caution doubly sure, he called up the mills and got his old friend Maguire at the other end of the line. It was not until all this had been done and he could do no more that he sank limply down on the couch and stared into the darkness. Now that everything was over he found that he was shaking like a leaf. His hands were icy cold and he quivered in every muscle of his body. It was useless for him to try to sleep; he was far too excited and worried for that. Therefore he lay rigidly on his bunk, thinking and waiting for—he knew not what.

It might have been an hour later that he was aroused from a doze by the sharp reverberation of the telephone bell. Dizzily he sprang to his feet and stood stupid and inert in the middle of the floor. Again the signal rang and this time he was broad awake. He rushed forward to grasp the receiver.

"Turner? Ted Turner?"

"Yes, sir."

"This is the police station at Freeman's Falls. We have your men—both of them—and the goods on them. They are safe and sound under lock and key. I just thought you might like to know it. We shall want to see you in the morning. You've done a good night's work, young one. The State Police have been after these fellows for two years. Sullivan has a record for deeds of this sort. Mighty lucky we got a line on him this time before he did any mischief."

"It was."

"That's all, thanks to you, kid. I advise you to go to bed now and to sleep. I'll hunt you up to-morrow. I'll bet the Fernalds will, too. They owe you something."

 

CHAPTER XIV

THE FERNALDS WIN THEIR POINT

The trial of Alf Sullivan and Jim Cronin was one of the most spectacular and thrilling events Freeman's Falls had ever witnessed. That two such notorious criminals should have been captured through the efforts of a young boy was almost inconceivable to the police, especially to the State detectives whom they had continually outwitted. And yet here they were in the dock and the town officers made not the slightest pretense that any part of the glory of their apprehension belonged to them. To Ted Turner's prompt action, and to that alone, the triumph was due.

In consequence the boy became the hero of the village. He had always been a favorite with both young and old, for every one liked his father, and it followed that they liked his father's son. Now, however, they had greater cause to admire that son for his own sake and cherish toward him the warmest gratitude. Many a man and woman reflected that it was this slender boy who had stood between them and a calamity almost too horrible to be believed; and as a result their gratitude was tremendous. And if the townsfolk were sensible of this great obligation how much more keenly alive to it were the Fernalds whose property had been thus menaced.

"You have topped one service with another, Ted," Mr. Lawrence Fernald declared. "We do not see how we are ever to thank you. Come, there must be something that you would like—some wish you would be happy to have gratified. Tell us what it is and perhaps we can act as magicians and make it come true."

"Yes," pleaded Mr. Clarence Fernald, "speak out, Ted. Do not hesitate. Remember you have done us a favor the magnitude of which can never be measured and which we can never repay."

"But I do not want to be paid, sir," the lad answered. "I am quite as thankful as you that the wretches who purposed harm were caught before they had had opportunity to destroy either life or property. Certainly that is reward enough."

"It is a reward in its way," the elder Mr. Fernald asserted. "The thought that it was you who were the savior of an entire community will bring you happiness as long as you live. Nevertheless we should like to give you something more tangible than pleasant thoughts. We want you to have something by which to remember this marvelous escape from tragedy. Deep down in your heart there must be some wish you cherish. If you knew the satisfaction it would give us to gratify it, I am sure you would not be so reluctant to express it."

Ted colored, and after hesitating an instant, shyly replied:

"Since you are both so kind and really seem to wish to know, there is something I should like."

"Name it!" the Fernalds cried in unison.

"I should like to feel I can return to the shack next summer," the boy remarked timidly. "You see, I have become very fond of Aldercliffe and Pine Lea, fond of Laurie, of Mr. Hazen, and of the little hut. I have felt far more sorry than perhaps you realize to go away from here." His voice quivered.

"You poor youngster!" Mr. Clarence exclaimed. "Why in the name of goodness didn't you say so? There is no more need of your leaving this place than there is of my going, or Laurie. We ought to have sensed your feeling and seen to it that other plans were made long ago. Indeed, you shall come back to your little riverside abode next summer—never fear! And as for Aldercliffe, Pine Lea, Laurie and all the rest of it, you shall not be parted from any of them."

"But I must go back to school now, sir."

"What's the matter with your staying on at Pine Lea and having your lessons with Laurie and Mr. Hazen instead?"

"Oh—why——"

"Should you like to?"

"Oh, Mr. Fernald, it would be——"

Laurie's father laughed.

"I guess we do not need an answer to that question," Grandfather Fernald remarked, smiling. "His face tells the tale."

"Then the thing is as good as done," Mr. Clarence announced. "Hazen will be as set up as an old hen to have two chicks. He likes you, Ted."

"And well he may," growled Grandfather Fernald. "But for Ted's prayers and pleas he would not now be here."

"Yes, Hazen will be much pleased," reiterated Mr. Clarence Fernald, ignoring his father's comment. "As for Laurie—I wonder we never thought of all this before. It is no more work to teach two boys than one, and in the meantime each will act as a stimulus for the other. The spur of rivalry will be a splendid incentive for Laurie, to say nothing of the joy he will take in your companionship. He needs young people about him. It is a great scheme, a great scheme!" mused Mr. Fernald, rubbing his hands with increasing satisfaction as one advantage of the arrangement after another rotated through his mind.

"If only my father does not object," murmured Ted.

"Object! Object!" blustered Grandfather Fernald. "And why, pray, should he object?"

That a man of Mr. Turner's station in life should view the plan with anything but pride and complacency was evidently a new thought to the financier.

"Why, sir, my father and sisters are very fond of me and may not wish to have me remain longer away from home. They have missed me a lot this summer, I know that. You see I am the youngest one, the only boy."

"Humph!" interpolated the elder Mr. Fernald.

"In spite of the fact that we are crowded at home and too busy to see much of one another, Father likes to feel I'm around," continued Ted.

"I—suppose—so," came slowly from the old gentleman.

"I am sure I can fix all that," asserted Mr. Clarence Fernald briskly. "I will see your father and sisters myself, and I feel sure they will not stand in the way of your getting a fine education when it is offered you—that is, if they care as much for you as you say they do. On the contrary, they will be the first persons to realize that such a plan is greatly to your advantage."

"It is going to be almightily to your advantage," Mr. Lawrence Fernald added. "Who can tell where it all may lead? If you do well at your studies, perhaps it may mean college some day, and a big, well-paid job afterward."

Ted's eyes shone.

"Would you like to go to college if you