AN INTERVIEW IN THE WOODS

Dick Percival was as good as his word and lost no time in telling the Hilltop boys that he had found an ideal editor for the monthly magazine conducted in the interests of the Academy and contributed to by the brightest minds among them.

The majority agreed that Jack would make a better editor but there were some who opposed this choice, not openly but in a sneering, underhand way that was harder to combat than if they had put on an attitude of bold defiance.

“You don’t want a mere clerk for an editor,” said Peter Herring to a number of his cronies. “If we did we could hire a six-dollar-a-week typewriter girl to do the work. Any one can work a machine with a little practice but it takes brains to run a high-class magazine like ours.”

“How much do you contribute to it, Pete?” asked Merritt, with a half laugh.

“Well, I contribute to the expense of the publication and I am not going to have my money wasted,” retorted the other angrily.

“So do all the boys contribute. You don’t have to pat yourself on the back for that.”

“Well, do you want this upstart to be editor?” snarled Herring, annoyed at these interruptions and yet not wishing to pick a quarrel with one who was useful to him at times.

“No, of course I don’t but you don’t need to make a fool of yourself for all that. You are no better than the rest of us.”

“I don’t say I am and I don’t make a fool of myself. What is the matter with you anyhow?”

“Never mind bickering, you two,” said one of the group. “What we want to get at is to keep Sheldon out of the paper, isn’t it?”

“Of course!” said all the rest.

“Then get to work and do it.”

“Leave it to me,” said Herring in a mysterious tone. “I’ll fix it all right, never fear.”

The preparation of the next number of the Hilltop Gazette was begun under the direction of Jack Sheldon, however, Dick, Harry and a few more assisting him in the selection and arrangement of articles and the opposition of Herring and his satellites seemed to have ceased.

Jack had made arrangements with the editor of the News to furnish him material for the weekly paper and to give him news as well if there happened to be any and he entered on his duties as contributor under a regular if not large salary.

Meanwhile, Herring took every opportunity to speak disparagingly of Jack, to sneer at everything he said or at every word of praise that was given him and to snub him whenever they met.

Jack cared nothing for this latter treatment and, indeed, seemed not to notice it and as far as snubbing went he never had anything to say to the bully and always passed him by without notice.

It was about ten days after the finding of the money in the creek and Jack was strolling in the woods half way down from the Academy, absorbed in thought and paying little attention to where he went or to the objects about him when he heard a sudden sharp hiss and then:

“Well? Do you like it here?”

He looked up suddenly and saw a man in a rough dark grey suit and wearing a thick black beard, standing close to a tree which had a great hollow on one side.

“You!” he exclaimed, stepping back a pace and straightening himself as if wishing to keep away from something defiling.

“Yes, me. So you are going to a high-class school, are you?”

“Why should I not if I pay for it?” asked Jack, coolly.

“And I need the money. Have you any with you?”

“Yes and I mean to keep it with me,” with a slight interruption.

“I can claim all you have. It is mine by right,” said the other in a dogged tone. “Come closer. I want to talk to you. Perhaps I can make a business proposition.”

There was a rustle among the leaves at a little distance and Jack looked around sharply but saw nothing, the stranger having evidently not taken note of anything.

“Come here,” he said, resting his hand in the hollow of the tree. “Do you see this hole? You could put something in there and I would get it. I have used it for a post-office before. It has been very handy. So, you found the money in the creek, did you? I was coming after it in a day or so. What have you done with it?”

“Restored it to the bank, whose property it was,” came the quiet answer. “You do not suppose I would keep it?”

“I worked for that money and only for my pals getting frightened I would have had more. We left the biggest part behind.”

“It is not safe for you here since the police have your description and know your reputation,” said Jack, quietly. “I would advise you to go away at once.”

“Who would recognize me?” asked the other with a laugh, whisking off his beard and restoring it again in a flash but revealing for a brief moment a large white mustache. “Besides, no one would suppose that I would stay in this neighborhood.”

“Why do you?”

To get what I left behind, with a laugh. They say lightning does not strike twice in the same place but I do and with profit. You know the bank, dont you? Give me a little idea of the location of things. I am a little hazy on some points. Of course I could fix that but time is an item with me. Where is the

“I shall tell you nothing!” said Jack, firmly, “and it is useless to prolong this interview.”

Aint I your father, Mr. John Shelden, alias

“No, you are not!” said Jack, fiercely.

He was retreating when the man said with a laugh and a sneer:

“You won’t get people to believe that. Help me and I will keep quiet; refuse and I will see that your term here is a very short one. Ha! I still use the old word. Familiar, of course.”

“I care nothing for your threats,” said Jack, hurrying away and looking around sharply, the sound he had before heard coming again to his ears.

“The fellow has some confederate hidden in the woods,” he thought, and made his way as rapidly as possible to the road and then went on up the hill toward the Academy.

The strange man disappeared in the woods but Jack did not look back to see where he went but kept straight on to the Academy.

Reaching the building he went to the telephone which the boys were allowed to use on occasion and called up Mr. Brooke.

“Hello! Mr. Brooke? I may have news for you about something. I will communicate with you as previously arranged in case there is anything to tell you. Good-bye.”

No one hearing this message could guess what it meant and Jack was purposely cautious and guarded, knowing that some of the operators in the exchange had told things which they had heard over the wires.

Having sent his message to the editor, he hung up the receiver and went to find Percival or some other of the boys.

A few minutes after the strange man with whom Jack had had his strange interview had disappeared in the woods, Peter Herring crept cautiously out of the bushes and whistled softly to some one.

In a moment he was joined by Merritt and the two hurried toward the road and took their way down hill.

“You heard the whole business?” asked Herring.

“Yes. That’s a nice mix-up.”

“I guess it is. Now we’ve got a hold on Sheldon. The son of a bank robber and he said his father was dead.”

“I’ll bet he was in the robbery himself,” muttered Merritt.

“Anyhow, we can make it look so,” snarled the other with an evil look.