The Lucky Seventh Part 14

"We'll see whether he's old enough," was the answer. "I'll go to court with it if it isn't paid prompt. Get me?"

"Sure. But Jonathan Brent's a bad man to fight, I guess," said Fudge with a shake of his head. "I wouldn't want to do it."

"Maybe you wouldn't." Mr. Stacey had to smile in spite of himself. "But I would-if I had to. I'm not in this business for my health, son. You tell Mr. Brent that if he wants me to haul that car in and repair it I'll do it, but I won't take it back."

"All right," answered Gordon. "Seems to me, though, you could fix it up for a few dollars and have a perfectly good car."

"There's no market here for second-hand cars," replied the dealer shortly. "Tell you what I will do, though. I'll fix that car up as good as new as cheap as it can be done and take it on sale. Maybe I'd find a buyer for it."

"You mean you'll let Morris off on the balance he owes?"

"No, sir, I don't mean anything of the sort! I mean that he's to pay what he owes when it comes due. If I can sell the machine he'll get what it fetches, less my commission of twenty per cent. Understand?"

"Well, I'll tell Mr. Brent what you say," agreed Gordon. "But I don't believe he will be willing to have it that way."

"There's no other way he can have it," snarled Mr. Stacey. "He may have a heap of money and own this town, but he don't own me! And he can't cheat me out of what belongs to me, either! And you can tell him so! You tell him that if that two-thirty-five isn't paid by the tenth of October I'll sue for it."

"Think of him suing Mr. Brent!" chuckled Fudge as they went out.

"I guess he'd have a pretty good case, though," said Gordon. "Of course Morris _does_ owe that money to him."

"Pshaw, Morris' note isn't worth a cent."

"Maybe not; I don't know about that; but he's morally liable, isn't he?"

"I guess so. Going to tell Mr. Brent now, Gordie?"

Gordon shook his head. "Not-not right away. I think I'll see d.i.c.k first. I told him I'd be over last night."

Fudge chuckled again. "You're scared," he said. "I'd be, too. Tell you what, Gordie; tell him over the 'phone, why don't you?"

"I was thinking of letting you tell him, Fudge."

"Me! Gee, I wouldn't d-d-do it if he g-g-gave me the car!"

They found d.i.c.k on the porch. "Hail to the Hero!" he declaimed.

"Shut up!" said Gordon.

"Modesty is very becoming," pursued d.i.c.k. "h.e.l.lo, Fudge. I'm glad to see you in such distinguished society. Sit down, Gordie, and tell me about it. First, though, how's Morris getting on? Lanny told me that he was pretty well broken to pieces."

"He's got a busted leg. Broken in two places. That's all. He was unconscious when they brought him home, but he's all right that way now.

There isn't much to tell. We were coming along that stretch where the white fence is and--"

Gordon went through with it again, Fudge interpolating details where Gordon failed to do full justice to the narrative. Afterward Gordon told about his visit to the automobile agent. "I don't know what to do," he ended. "I hate to tell Mr. Brent what that fellow said, d.i.c.k."

"I don't see why. It isn't your fault. Besides, Mr. Brent is in the wrong, anyway. It's Morris' duty to pay what he owes. The dealer isn't supposed to find out before he makes a sale whether the buyer's relatives want him to own a car!"

"That's all very well," grumbled Gordon, "but he will be as mad as a March hare. I don't see why he got me to do it for him, anyway."

"Because you've made a hit with him," laughed d.i.c.k. "I believe if you asked for it you could get a yearly pa.s.s over the trolley line. And speaking of trolleys reminds me that I've got to hustle over to the Point and get busy with young Mr. Townsend. What time is it?"

It was almost ten, and d.i.c.k seized his crutches and swung himself hurriedly into the house to reappear a minute later ready for the journey. Gordon and Fudge walked to the corner with him.

"How about another game with those fellows, d.i.c.k?" asked Gordon. "Are you going to see Billings to-day?"

"If you want me to. There's time enough, though, I guess. We've got a game with Lesterville the day after to-morrow, as you perhaps recall."

"I know, but I was thinking we might get the Pointers to come over and play us a week from Sat.u.r.day. You might see what Billings thinks about it."

"All right. If I can find him I'll ask. By the way, he'll have to find someone to take Morris' place, won't he? Guess, though, it won't be hard to do. Here comes my car. See you later, fellows."

Gordon and Fudge mounted their wheels again when the trolley had rolled off and pedaled leisurely along Sawyer Street.

"Too bad," observed Fudge, "that d.i.c.k hasn't got that automobile, Gordie. It would save him a lot of hard work, wouldn't it? Say, someone may run off with it if it stays out there on the road much longer. Bet you half of it's gone already!"

There was no reply from Gordon, who was riding slowly along with his gaze fixed intently on his handle-bar.

"You ought to have hidden it behind a tree or something before you came away, Gordie."

"Eh? Hidden what?"

"The automobile, of course. Say, what did you think I was talking about, anyway?"

"I guess I didn't hear you," replied Gordon apologetically. "I-I was thinking."

"Some day you'll be doing that and get run down by a trolley car,"

commented Fudge crus.h.i.+ngly. "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing much," answered Gordon. "Want to play some tennis?"

"My racket's busted. I can borrow Lanny's, though. But I guess it's too hot for tennis, isn't it?"

"Maybe. I suppose, anyway, I'd ought to see Mr. Brent and tell him what that fellow said. There's no use putting it off. Will you come with me?"

"Not to speak of! I'd do most anything for you, Gordie, but not that!"

"Well, ride down town with me. You needn't go in."

"That's fair. And I'll try to catch you when he drops you out the window. Come on."

CHAPTER XI

FUDGE SCENTS A SECRET