“It seems almost impossible that a man with such a red head could so completely drop out of sight,” sighed Tavia
the next day.
The boys had just combed Dalton “with a fine-toothed comb” for the elusive1 Tom Moran, and had bagged nothing. He
had gone—vamoosed—disappeared—winked out; all these synonyms2 were Tavia’s. The girls had discussed the
disappearance3 until there seemed nothing more to be said.
“We don’t really know that he was Celia’s big brother,” said Dorothy, reflectively. “But it seems very
probable. Even your father knew that he was a bridge builder.”
“But we didn’t,” snapped Tavia. “Who expected to find a structural4 ironworker driving a yoke5 of steers6?”
“And such steers,” sighed Dorothy, for she had scarcely gotten over the scare of that perilous7 ride.
Everybody about town knew by this time that186 the red-haired young man who had worked in Simpson’s gang was wanted
by Dorothy Dale. Dorothy had more friends in Dalton than anywhere else. Indeed, she could well claim every
respectable member of the community, save the nursing babies, as her own particular friend.
With so many people on the lookout9 for a trace of Tom Moran, therefore, it was no wonder that Dorothy and her
friends were running down possible clues all day long.
The second morning news came from a farmer out on the Fountainville Road. Ned and Nat had come down to Dalton in
their Firebird, and they got the motorcar out of the garage at once and brought it around to give the girls a ride
“He’s been losing chickens,” said Ned, as they all scrambled11 in. “And he telephoned in something about a red-
headed man he had hired, named Moran, having a fight in the night with a band of chicken thieves in an automobile12.
What do you know about that?”
“Sounds crazy enough,” said Tavia, tartly13.
“All right. Your father’s sent a constable14 out to see about it, just the same. And there aren’t two red-headed
men named Moran wandering about the county, I am sure.”
“But I don’t believe Celia’s brother would rob a henroost,” said Dorothy.
187 “Oh, fudge!” exclaimed Nat. “Listen to the girl? Who said he did?”
“Well! wasn’t there something about chicken stealing in what Ned said? Oh! I almost lost my hat that time. What a
“Look out or you’ll lose your name and number both on this stretch of highway. Can’t the old Firebird spin some?
”
“Such flowers of rhetoric,” sighed Tavia. “‘Spin some’ is beautiful.”
“Lots you know about flowers of any kind, Miss Travers,” teased Nat.
“I know all about flowers—especially of speech,” returned Tavia, tossing her head. “I can even tell you the
favorite flowers of the various States and countries——”
“England?” shouted Nat.
“Primroses,” returned Tavia, promptly16, unwilling17 to be caught.
“France?” questioned Bob.
“Lilies.”
“Scotland?” asked Dorothy, laughing.
“Ought to be a beard of oats, but it’s the thistle,” said Tavia, promptly.
“Ireland?” demanded Ned, without turning from his steering18 wheel.
“Shamrock, of course.”
“Got you!” ejaculated Nat. “What’s Spain’s favorite?”
188 “Oh-oh-oh—— Bulrushes, I s’pect,” said Tavia, having the words jolted19 out of her. “Bull-fights, anyway.
Dear, dear me! we might as well travel over plowed20 ground.”
They struck a better automobile road on the Fountainville turnpike, and before long they came in sight of Farmer
Prater’s house. Oddly enough there was a gray and yellow automobile under one of the farmer’s sheds.
The farmer was in high fettle, it proved, and willing enough to talk about the raid the night before on his pens of
Rhode Island reds.
“Jefers pelters!” he chortled. “I got me pullets back and the ortermerbile ter boot. D’ye see it? That’s what
the raskils come in.”
“Not the red-headed man?” demanded Tavia.
“Who said anything about a red headed—— Oh! you mean Tom Moran?” asked Mr. Prater. “Why, he warn’t with ’em.
If it hadn’t been for him them raskils would ha’ got erway with my pullets—ya-as, sir-ree-sir!”
“Where is Tom?” demanded Dorothy.
But Mr. Prater had to tell the story in his own way. And it was an exciting one—to him! He had been awakened21 in the
early hours of the morning and had seen an automobile standing22 in the road. Then he heard a squawking in the chicken
pens. He had valuable feathered stock, and he got up in a hurry to learn what was afoot.
189 But the thieves would have gotten well away with their bags of feathered loot had it not been for Tom Moran, who
was sleeping for the night in Farmer Prater’s barn.
“That red-headed feller is as smart as a steel trap,” said the farmer, admiringly. “I’ve been at him every time
I’m in Dalton to come an’ work for me. But he wouldn’t.”
“What did he do?” asked Dorothy, interested for more reasons than one in any account of Tom Moran.
“Why, he jumped out of the hay, got ahead of the thieves, and leaped into their merchine before they reached it. It
’s a self-starter—d’ye see? So he jest teched up the engine button, and started the merchine to traveling. Them
fellers couldn’t git aboard, and they had to drop the sacks and run. I was right behind ’em with my gun, ye see,
and I’d peppered ’em with rock salt if they hadn’t quit as they did—— Ya-as, sir-ree-sir!”
“And where did Tom go?” queried23 Tavia, breathlessly.
“Why, he brought the machine back, eat his breakfast, and went on his way. He didn’t say where he was goin’.
I’ll wait for the owner of the ortermobile to show up an’ explain about his car, I reckon. Ain’t no license24
number on it.”
So that settled this trace of Tom Moran. He had disappeared again. Nobody near Mr. Prater190 had observed the red-
headed man when he left for parts unknown. The girls and their friends had lots of fun scouring25 the neighboring
country in the Firebird; but the young man whom Dorothy Dale wished to see so very much was as elusive as a will-o’
-the-wisp!
And when they got back to town there was a letter about the very man himself addressed to the War Cry office, in
regard to the advertisement that Dorothy had caused to be printed in that paper. The letter had gone to Glenwood and
been forwarded to Dalton on Dorothy’s trail.
The letter was written on dirty paper and in a handwriting that showed the writer to be a very ignorant person. And
it was actually mailed in Dalton! The girls read it eagerly.
“If you want to knos bout8 Tom Moran I can tell you all you want to knos. but I got a be paid for what I knos.
hes a many mils from here. but I can find him if its mad wuth my wile26. So no mor at present Well wisher. p. s.—rite
me at Dalton N. York, name john Smith. Ile get it from genl dlivry.”
“Now, never in the world did that red-haired young man write such a letter, Doro!” cried Tavia.
“Of course not. It is some bad person who saw191 the advertisement and thinks that some money is to be made out of
poor Celia’s brother.”
“And this awful scrawl27 was written when Tom was right here in town.”
“Certainly,” agreed Dorothy.
“Yet the writer says he is ‘a many mils from here.’”
“That is why we may be sure that the person writing to me has a very bad mind and is trying to get money. I am sure
Tom Moran never saw the notice in the War Cry and that he knows nothing about this letter,” repeated Dorothy.
“Dear me! to be so close on the trail of that redhead—and then to lose him,” Tavia said despairingly.
“Perhaps this person who wrote the letter knows where he is now. Yes, it looks reasonable,” said Dorothy,
reflectively. “You see, believing as he does that somebody will pay money to find Tom Moran, he will likely keep in
touch with Celia’s brother.”
“I see!” cried Tavia. “I see what you are driving at. Aren’t you smart, Doro Dale? The way to do, then, is for
us to find this John Smith—— But how will you do it?”
“How?”
“Of course that isn’t his name. I don’t believe there is a John Smith in Dalton.”
“Perhaps not. Although John Smiths aren’t192 uncommon,” laughed Dorothy. “But we know that is the name in which
he’ll ask for his mail. Now, why not keep watch——”
“Better than that!” gasped28 Tavia. “Let’s tell Mr. Somes, the postmaster, and have him set a watch upon whoever
gets a letter for John Smith.”
“But where’ll he get a letter—if I don’t write him?” demanded Dorothy.
“Of course, you’ll write him. Write now. Make him think you are going to ‘bite’ on his offer.”
“But I don’t intend to pay any great sum for finding Tom Moran—though I’d be willing to if I had it.”
“We can fool him; can’t we?” demanded Tavia. “He is evidently trying to over-reach Tom and you both. Let the
biter be bitten,” said Tavia, gaily29. “Come on, Doro! Write the letter.”
收听单词发音 |
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elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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synonyms
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| 同义词( synonym的名词复数 ) | |
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3
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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structural
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| adj.构造的，组织的，建筑（用）的 | |
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yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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steers
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| n.阉公牛，肉用公牛( steer的名词复数 )v.驾驶( steer的第三人称单数 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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prater
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| 多嘴的人，空谈者 | |
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scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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12
automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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tartly
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| adv.辛辣地，刻薄地 | |
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14
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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jolty
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| 摇动的，颠簸的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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plowed
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| v.耕( plow的过去式和过去分词 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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scouring
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| 擦[洗]净，冲刷，洗涤 | |
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wile
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| v.诡计，引诱；n.欺骗，欺诈 | |
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scrawl
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| vt.潦草地书写；n.潦草的笔记，涂写 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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