<h2 id='chap14'>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
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<div>THE NEW HELPER</div>
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<p class='c011'>Bruce replaced the cap back over his injured ears
and smiled at his two friends.</p>
<p>“No, not exactly football,” he replied. “It was
worse than that.”</p>
<p>“Whew!” whistled Dave. “You must have
been ‘up against it,’ as Borden would say.”</p>
<p>“Up against a grindstone; yes,” assented Hiram.
“Go ahead, Bruce, and let’s hear about it.”</p>
<p>“It’s a long story about how my father died, and
how Martin Dawson got hold of his estate,” began
the homeless orphan. “I’ll tell you all the particulars
of that some time, and maybe you can advise
me, and help us to get our rights. Old Martin
Dawson has treated me meanly. He hired me out
to all kinds of hard work, and half-starved me, and
kept me in rags. As I told Hiram when I first met
him, Mr. Dawson had a regular set of bad men
around him. They were all rough characters.
There was one fellow who traveled with circus
shows. His name was Wertz. It was about two
<span class="pagenum" title='111' id='Page_111'></span>years ago when Mr. Dawson farmed me out to
him. Wertz tried to train me for the trapeze, but
I wasn’t limber enough for that. Then he said he
would use me in his knife-throwing act. He made
me stand against a wooden shield while he threw
knives at me. I’ve got two bad scars on my body
now, where he missed, and the knives cut into me.
Then one day when practicing he clipped off a little
piece of my right ear. I ran away from him then,
but he got me back. I made him agree that after
that he wouldn’t aim at my head, only my arms and
the rest of my body. One night at a circus, though,
he got reckless. He aimed at my ear—the left one—intending
to set a circle of knives all around my
head. One clipped my other ear, as you have seen.
It hurt dreadfully, and I fainted away. The audience
was roused up about it, and the humane society
got after Wertz and he ran away. Then I
went back to Mr. Dawson. A doctor fixed up my
ears, but they are not quite healed yet.”</p>
<p>This story aroused the sympathy and interest of
Dave, and he decided to employ Bruce. The
watchman, Dennis, was called away by a partner
to a country fair and Bruce was installed as watchman
in his place. The young airman knew he could
trust him and he found Bruce willing and grateful.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" title='112' id='Page_112'></span>“You see,” proceeded Hiram, “it’s only six days
to the meet. Monday the contests begin, and we
want to get everything in ship-shape order.”</p>
<p>“That is true,” agreed Dave. “What is it you
have to suggest, Hiram?”</p>
<p>The latter drew from his pocket a double printed
sheet and handed it to Dave.</p>
<p>“I got one of the first programmes,” explained
Hiram.</p>
<p>Dave scanned it casually. He had been informed
in advance, as had most of the entrants, of the
nature of the various contests. Towards the last,
however, something new and unexpected met his
glance.</p>
<p>“‘Mail delivered—twenty stations, minimum altitude
two hundred feet’—what does that mean?”
and he looked keenly at his assistant as the latter
began to laugh and chuckle.</p>
<p>“That, Dave,” answered Hiram with a great
deal of satisfaction, and some pride—“that means
me.”</p>
<p>“Oh!” observed quick-witted Dave, thinking
back, and guessing hard, “those leather bags——”</p>
<p>“You’ve hit it,” acquiesced Hiram. “The idea
came to me while we were practicing at the Midlothian
field. I reckoned it wouldn’t be hard to
work up the management to including a mail delivery
feature in the programme, so I set to practicing.
And I’ve been at it on the sly ever since,”
added the speaker with a laugh.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" title='113' id='Page_113'></span>“Go ahead, Hiram,” encouraged Dave. “You
don’t usually stop half way, and you have got more
than that to tell.”</p>
<p>“Why, yes, I have,” admitted Hiram. “When
I was a boy—I mean a real little fellow—I was
always good at pitching quoits, and such things. I
was the local champion at ‘Duck on the Rock.’ I
saw an article in the newspapers discussing the idea
of establishing an airship route to deliver mail bags.
I practiced. First, Dave, I was going to tell you,
and have you work up the idea. Then I thought
how busy you were and—well, I’ll wager you I can
win the twenty point score on the mail feature over
anybody in the contest.”</p>
<p>“Well; twenty points isn’t to be sneezed at,” commented
Dave briskly. “It may be a saving clause
for us.”</p>
<p>“I suggested that programme number to the
management,” went on Hiram. “I showed them
the newspaper article about it. Now of course a lot
of fellows will be getting in trim for it, but don’t
forget that I have had three weeks’ practice ahead
of them. Oh, Dave, I forgot till now—another
thing: I met the policeman you took in the <i>Ariel</i>
after that diamond robber.”</p>
<p>“What did he say, Hiram?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" title='114' id='Page_114'></span>“The man died without coming back to consciousness.
Those diamonds will never be found
now, unless they locate the partner he passed them
to.”</p>
<p>“Have you seen anything of Borden lately?”
asked Dave.</p>
<p>“I’ve seen him, in fact I’ve passed right by him
at the Syndicate camp half a dozen times, but he
turns away, or scowls at me. It’s part of his ‘acting’
you know. He isn’t ready to report to us yet,
but I know he will when he is ready to do us some
good.”</p>
<p>Dave went away alone an hour later for a flight
with the <i>Ariel</i> over the sand dunes.</p>
<p>“It’s a good time to clean house,” suggested
Dave to Hiram, before leaving, and the latter and
Bruce, following his orders, cleared out a lot of rubbish
that obstructed the garage space. This they
proceeded to burn up.</p>
<p>“Here’s a box with a lot of catalogues, and
some papers in it,” said Bruce, lifting the article
from the top of a barrel.</p>
<p>“Dump them into the fire,” ordered Hiram.</p>
<p>“Maybe they are some good,” suggested Bruce,
looking over the litter, and then he uttered so
strange a cry that Hiram regarded him curiously.</p>
<p>Bruce had taken from the box and unrolled a
sheet of manilla paper. It was the one which bore
the crayon portrait of the man who had tried to
blow up the two airships at the Midlothian
grounds.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" title='115' id='Page_115'></span>“Hiram,” spoke Bruce in a quick troubled tone,
“where did you get this? I know that man!”</p>
<p>“You do!” exclaimed Hiram, pressing closely to
his side. “Who is he?”</p>
<p>“It’s the man I told you about—the knife-thrower,
Wertz,” was Bruce Beresford’s reply.</p>
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<div> <span class="pagenum" title='116' id='Page_116'></span></div>
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