“Hush!  Here come those three kids now,” warned Sam, as Rob, Merritt and Tubby came down the street.  After what had passed they did not feel called upon to give the bully and his companions more than a cold nod.

“Well, be as stuck up as you like to this after-noon!” sneered Jack, after they had gone by, taking good care, however, that his voice would not carry.  “I guess the laugh will be on you and your old friend of the island to-morrow.”

CHAPTER VI

AN ISLAND MYSTERY

“Hullo, Hiram; where are you bound for?”

It was Rob who spoke, as Hiram hastened by his house in the early darkness.

“Oh, hullo, Rob,” responded the other.  “I was wondering who that was hanging over the gate.  Why, I’m going to Paul’s house.  I’m going to talk over that aeroplane model contest with him.  I think that we stand a chance to win if Jack Curtiss doesn’t make good his boast.”

“What was that?” inquired Rob.

“Oh, he says that he is going to build an aeroplane that will beat us all.”

“And have it ready in a week?” was Rob’s astonished query.

“That’s what he says,” responded Hiram.  “It all looks kind of suspicious to me.  Fifty dollars is a large enough sum to tempt Jack to do almost anything.  Well, so long.  I’ve got to hurry along.  I’m late now.”

And the lad hastened away to keep his appointment.

Rob was about to go into the house and get a book, when his attention was arrested by a figure coming up the street at a smart pace whose outlines somehow seemed familiar to him.  The next minute his guess was confirmed, when a hearty voice hailed him: 

“Waal, here I am, lad—­all shipshape and in first-class trim.  Now, what is it?  What do yer want?  Yer didn’t explain in the note, but old Captain job Hudgins’ll always stand by a shipmate in distress.”

“Why, whatever do you mean, captain?” exclaimed Rob, amazed, and thinking that the captain must have taken leave of his wits.  “Who do you mean is in distress?”

“Mean?” echoed the captain, in his turn, it seemed, surprised.  “Why, that note yer sent me.  Here it is—­all written on one uv them new-fangled machines.”

Rob took the crumpled paper the old seaman drew out of his coat and scanned it hastily by the light of the street lamp.  The following note met his puzzled gaze.

“Dear captain:  Please come over and see me at once.  Something serious has happened at the bank.  I need your aid and advice.

“Yours,

“Rob Blake.”

“Hum!  The signature is typewritten, too,” mused Rob.  “What kind of a joke is this?  I don’t know, but I’ll bet anything that Jack Curtiss is at the bottom of it.”

“Well,” demanded the captain, “what is it, a bit of gammon?  I’ll keel-haul the man as did it if I can find him.”