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Dave Dashaway, the Young Aviator

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<h2 id='chapVII' class='c001'>CHAPTER VII</h2> <div class='nf-center-c0'> <div class='nf-center c004'> <div>ROBBED</div> </div></div> “Well that’s the hardest part of it over and done with,” declared Dave, as he walked into the railroad depot at Brompton. The youth felt pretty much encouraged. His foot had mended, he had earned ten dollars, and had won a good friend. He had got safely away from Brookville by a route his pursuers would never suspect him of taking. “More than all, best of all,” spoke Dave with longing and satisfaction, “I’m well started for Fairfield and the airships.” Dave found the depot almost deserted. A few travelers were nodding on the benches in the passengers room, waiting for a late local train going north. The ticket office was closed, but the depot policeman was on duty. Dave approached this official. “What about a train for Fairfield?” he spoke. “Last one gone two hours ago.” “When is the next train?” “8:15 A. M.” Dave was disappointed. That was nearly a third of a day ahead. It would be a long wait, but he decided to make the best of it. He selected a snug seat in a dark corner and began to nod before he was aware of it. “Here, rout out,” sounded a gruff voice in his ear, and he was shaken rudely. “Oh—yes, I was asleep,” mumbled Dave, recognizing the depot policeman. “Going to close up. No more trains either way to-night,” he said. “But I’m waiting for the Fairfield train.” “Can’t do it here. Against the rules. Come back in the morning.” “Where can I go?” “Why, to a hotel, of course. There’s lots of them within a stone’s throw.” Dave got to his feet and out of the depot. He had unexpectedly received a great deal more money than it would take to get him to Fairfield. He treasured his little hoard, though. The idea of saving the price of a night’s lodging had pleased him. “What do I care for a bed,” he told himself as he came out of the depot into the starry night. “I can sleep anywhere,” and Dave made for the deep entrance to a store and sat down upon its step. Almost instantly, however, a policeman in uniform stepped out of the deep shadow of a neighboring doorway, on the lookout for stragglers. “You’ll have to move on, sonny,” he said. “All right,” assented Dave with a comical smile. “I wouldn’t hurt those iron steps, though.” Dave walked on till he came to a big building. It bore the sign: “Empire Hotel.” Glancing in at the lobby with its elegant appointments Dave shrugged his shoulders and walked on. “That’s too rich for my blood, even if I do feel like a millionaire,” he smiled. “Something more modest for me.” Finally Dave reached a respectable appearing hotel that looked second class and cheap. He entered the lobby and went up to the clerk’s desk. “How much do you charge for a night’s lodging?” he asked. “Fifty cents.” “I guess I’ll stay, then.” “Got any baggage?” “No, sir.” “Any references?” “I should say not!” Dave told himself, and he walked away when the clerk had explained that they never took in transients without baggage or an introduction from a responsible party. Dave sauntered about leisurely now. He made up his mind to walk about all night. At the end of an hour, however, the unfamiliar stone pavements began to remind him of his weak ankle. He noticed an illuminated sign running out from a shabby looking building. It read: “Rooms—twenty-five and fifty cents.” “That sounds all right,” reflected Dave, and he ascended a stairway lighted up by a smoking oil lamp at its top. A drowsy, sleepy-eyed young man was lounging in a broken chair behind a desk. At its side were a lot of pigeon holes, and some holding keys. “I want to stay here all night,” stated Dave. “No one’s hindering you, is there?” observed the young man. “What price?” “Twenty-five cents.” The young man ran his eye over a portion of the pigeon holes and announced: “Single rooms at that price all gone.” “And the best room is fifty cents?” “You’ve got it.” “That’s too much.” “Better go to Tom’s Lodging House,” sneered the fellow. “You’ll find a fine ten-cent crowd there, if that’s your style. Tell you, if you don’t mind sharing a room with a boy like yourself I can accommodate you.” “Two beds?” “Yes.” “I’ll take it.” “Pay it.” Dave drew out his money. The young man grumbled at having to change a five dollar but that was soon got through with. Then he handed Dave a key with an iron strip to it, that prevented lodgers from putting it in their pockets and forgetting to return it. “Room 58, fourth floor,” advised the young man, and lounged back into his chair again. “Be sure to put out your light when you go to bed.” Dave climbed up two more flights of rickety stairs. The air of the place was close. One floor was divided up into as many as a hundred little bunks, and the snoring was disturbing. “I wish I hadn’t come here,” thought Dave, but he kept on to the fourth floor, made out 58 on a door, and unlocked it and entered a room with one window. The light in the hall showed a lamp on a table. There were two narrow beds in the room, and they did not look particularly uncomfortable. When he lighted the lamp, Dave glanced over at the cot that was occupied. Near it was a chair, and over this hung some shabby garments. Dave had a plain view of the sleeping inmate of the bed, and he did not like the face at all. It had a red scar on one cheek, the hair was straggling and untidy, and, taken altogether, the boy made Dave think of a crowd of young roughs who had run up against him and tried to provoke him into a quarrel in his early midnight wanderings. Dave opened the window of the room to let in fresh air, then he undressed. He drew a chair up against his bed and folded his clothes across it. Then he blew out the light. “Feels good to stretch out human like once more, sure enough,” said Dave contentedly. Then he groped about on the chair until he found his coat and drew out the pocket book belonging to Robert King, Aviator. “I want to make sure of that,” he mused. “My own money, too. I’ll quietly put it all in the pocket book and slip it under my pillow. Then no one can play any tricks on me without waking me up.” Dave worked in the dark. He fished out the bills from his pocket. Then he got hold of the silver change he had received down stairs. It was composed mainly of dimes and nickles. Just as he was striving noiselessly to transfer the handful to the pocket book, bang! rattle! tap! went half a dozen rolling nickles out of his hand. “Hello, what’s that?” challenged a sharp suspicious voice, and Dave knew that the noise made by the falling coins had awakened the sleeper in the other bed. Dave was bound to answer. He slipped the pocket book under his pillow, and held tightly the coins remaining in his hand to prevent them from jingling together. “It’s me,” he replied. “Who’s me?” “Roomer—just come in.” “You’re a boy, aren’t you?” “Like yourself.” “What’s your name?” “I did not register,” replied Dave evasively. “Humph! don’t want to be sociable, eh? Well, shut up, then.” With a grunt the occupant of the other cot seemed to flounce over and resume his slumbers. Dave did not like the sound of his voice any better than he had the look of his face. He hoped the fellow had not heard the coins drop on the floor. Dave reached out cautiously, groped about, managed to locate several nickels, placed these noiselessly in the pocket book, and was glad that things had quieted down. Somehow he felt disturbed and uneasy. He knew that the place was second class, and probably housed a good many rough characters. He made up his mind that he would keep awake until daylight, then go back to the railroad depot. He heard two and then three o’clock strike from some neighboring bell tower. By four o’clock he was fast asleep. In a dreamy sort of a daze, his next waking action was lying with his eyes closed and counting seven strokes of a bell. “Oh, dear, this won’t do at all,” cried Dave, leaping from the bed to the floor. “Why, I’ll miss the train to Fairfield if I don’t move sharp. Hello—hello!” Dave came to a standstill, posed like a statue. He stared at the chair by the side of the bed. His clothes were gone! He rubbed his eyes and looked again. In their stead, lying scattered carelessly on the floor, were the clothes belonging to his boy room mate. In a second a dreadful flash of dismay and fear came to Dave’s mind. He sprang at the bed he had just left and lifted the pillow quickly. “Gone! All gone!” he gasped turning cold all over. “I’ve been robbed!” <div class='pbb'></div> <hr class='pb c000' /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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