“He always talks Dickens to us at school,” said Frank.
“It’s simple enough, once you get the habit,” remarked Mr. Hardy. “You must train yourselves to be observant, so that in time you will automatically remember little details about people you meet and places you’ve visited. Now, if Harrity and Mr. Brown had been at all observant, in spite of the fact that they were surprised and frightened, they would have been able to give the police a very thorough description of the man who tried to hold up the steamboat office. And if the man happened to be a professional thief the description would have helped the officers ascertain who he was, because once a man has served a prison term his description is kept on file. As it is, all we know about him is that he is probably redheaded. That isn’t very much to go on.”
“I’m afraid Chet hasn’t much chance of recovering his roadster,” said Joe.
“You never can tell,” remarked his father. “It may turn up sometime. Perhaps the thief will get himself into trouble yet. Keep your ears and eyes open. And now, if you don’t mind, I have some reports to write—”
Frank and Joe took the hint and left their father to his work. But although they talked long into the night on possible ways and means of recovering Chet’s car, they were able to devise no plan for tracing the thief.
And through the week that followed there were no further clues. Chet had given up all hope of seeing the roadster again.
“I sure miss the old bus,” he told the Hardy boys after school on Friday afternoon. “I have to take my chances on catching rides in and out of town now. Why, last night I walked halfway home before a car came along and gave me a lift.”
“Saturday will be a pretty dull day for you now.”
“You just bet your sweet life it will be dull! Nothing to do but sit around the farm.”
“Better come with us tomorrow,” suggested Joe. “A bunch of us are going fishing up near the dam. You can meet us at the crossroads near Willow River.”
“Good idea!” said Chet. “What time?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“Fine! I’ll be there. Gosh, I see where I get a ride home. There goes a hay wagon, and it’s heading right for the next farm.”
A long wagon rumbled slowly toward the boys. A lean and solemn farmer perched on the front seat, half asleep. The horses dawdled along.
“That’s Lem Billers—the laziest man in nine counties,” said Chet. “Watch me have some fun with him.”
Chet took from his pocket an automobile horn. He had originally bought it for the roadster but had not had time to install it before the car was stolen. The horn was of a new type, very small, yet it had a particularly raucous shriek.
The Hardy boys grinned as they saw Chet step out into the road and swing himself lightly up on the back of the wagon. Mr. Billers was bringing some supplies back to the farm and Chet was hidden from view by a bag of flour.
As the wagon rumbled past, Chet sounded the automobile horn.
It shrieked sharply and insistently.
Mr. Billers, being a lazy man, did not even look behind. He simply tugged lightly at the reins and the horses edged over to the side of the road.
Having heard the horn, Mr. Billers expected an automobile would pass. But when no car flashed by he turned indolently in his seat and looked behind. The roadway was clear. There was not an automobile in sight. He did not see Chet, doubling up with laughter, on the back of the wagon. He gazed doubtfully at the Hardy boys, who were standing at the curb, trying to conceal their smiles.
“Could ’a’ swore I heard a horn,” grunted Mr. Billers. Then he tugged at the lines and brought the horses into the middle of the road again.
Instantly the horn shrieked again. This time it was even louder and more insistent than before. It seemed that an automobile was right behind the wagon, clamoring to pass.
Almost automatically, Mr. Billers yanked at the reins and the horses again went to the side of the road.
But again no car went by.
Again Mr. Billers looked behind. Again, to his astonishment, he saw that the roadway was clear.
“Hanged if I didn’t think I heard a horn!” exclaimed Mr. Billers, greatly puzzled, as he drove on again. “My ears must be goin’ back on me.”
But in a few minutes the horn shrieked again. Frank and Joe, who were walking along the sidewalk, keeping abreast of the wagon so as not to miss the fun, chuckled as they saw Mr. Billers once more pull on the reins to guide the horses to the roadside. Then the farmer recollected how he had been fooled on the previous occasions and he looked quickly around. But there was no car in sight.
Mr. Billers gazed down the roadway for a long time. Then he sighed, with the air of one whose patience has been long tried.
“Must be somethin’ the matter with my ears,” he muttered, and drove on.
At this moment a luxurious sedan swept around a corner and drew up close behind the wagon. There was a chauffeur at the wheel and he sounded his horn impatiently, for the road was narrow and he was unable to get past.
Lem Billers smiled darkly to himself and paid no attention.
“There it goes again,” he grumbled. “I must be hearin’ things. Hang me if I’ll turn out any more when there ain’t no car there to turn out for.”
The wagon continued in the center of the road. The chauffeur of the car glared at Lem Billers’ back and sounded the horn again. Still the farmer paid no attention.
Chet, limp with laughter, almost rolled off the wagon. Frank and Joe could control their mirth no longer, and leaned against a telephone post with shouts
