# Dave Porter at Oak Hall/Chapter 34

CHAPTER XXXIV
MORE CONCERNING A MYSTERY—CONCLUSION
Both Oliver Wadsworth and Professor Potts remained at the village of Oakdale over night, and in the morning both called upon Dave again.
"Well, how do you feel after your victory of yesterday?" questioned the manufacturer.
"First-rate," answered Dave, with a warm smile.
"I suppose you don't feel like buckling down to your studies again, do you?"
"Oh, yes, sir."
"I knew it!" cried Caspar Potts. "Whatever Dave does, he does with all his heart and soul. Nothing can stop him." And he nodded his head over and over again.
Oliver Wadsworth looked at the boy keenly, and there was a second of silence.
"Dave, I've got something to tell you," said the gentleman, soberly. "I don't know if it is important or not, but it looks to me as if it might be. That sick man, Billy Dill, is recovering rapidly, and when I stopped to see him before I came here, he expressed a strong desire to see you."
​"Recovering? Is he in his right mind?"
"He appears to be—and yet he talks in a very strange way."
"About me?"
"About you, or somebody that looks like you. He wants to see you very much. He claims that you are his old friend. But of course that can't be. He is sane enough on other subjects, so the doctor told me."
"I'd like to see him."
"Well, I'll take you to see him this afternoon. I have already arranged it with Dr. Clay."
They started directly after dinner, and by three o'clock Dave and Mr. Wadsworth were at the private sanitarium to which the old tar had been transferred. When they entered the sick man's room they found him walking the floor with a true nautical swagger.
"Hullo, my hearty! so you've hove in sight at last!" he cried, as he took Dave's hand and gave it an earnest grip. "I thought I was stranded here and abandoned."
"I am glad to see you so well," answered Dave, and looked the tar squarely in the eyes.
"Been many a year since we met, ain't it?" queried Billy Dill. "Must be fifteen or twenty, eh? But you don't look older—you look younger."
"Do you really think you met me before? I ​mean before you had that trouble with Tag Dutch?"
"O' course, I do, friend. But it's a good way back, ain't it?" The sailor scratched his head. "And that crack has knocked it clear out o' reckoning." He heaved a sigh. "You've been good to me, sir," he went on to Oliver Wadsworth. "I ain't goin' to forgit it, not me!"
"Where did you meet me?" went on Dave, striving to be calm, although he was becoming tremendously interested.
"Where? Why, out there on Cavasa Island in the South Seas. Don't you remember the old ship—let's see, I can't remember her name—and that crazy nurse—the one who lost the child—the little boy? Of course you do?"
"A crazy nurse who lost a little boy!" ejaculated Oliver Wadsworth. "Who was she?"
"Who was she?" repeated Billy Dill. "He knows." He pointed to Dave. "I reckon it was his son, or his nephew, I've forgotten which." He pressed his hand to his temple. "Queer, how things get away from a man—sometimes I'm away out o' my reckonin'."
"So you think I'm the person who lost the little boy?" faltered Dave, his breast heaving with emotion. "Did that man look exactly like me?"
"As like as two peas—only he had a mustache. ​Then you are sure it wasn't you? I'm mixed, I know."
"Do you remember how the boy was lost?"
"No—excepting that it happened in this country. It's so long ago, so long ago! And my head spins like a reel."
"Did you leave this man at Cavasa Island?" asked Mr. Wadsworth.
"I reckon I did,—but I don't know where he is now."
"Can you tell anything more about him?" asked Dave.
"Maybe, some other time. My head is in a twist now." The old tar was beginning to grow excited. "The sea sings in my ears and the lighthouses dance before my eyes. I wish I was on the old ship again."
"What ship was it?"
"I can't remember her name—I can't remember any names, only faces." The sailor muttered something under his breath and then began to tramp the floor and give orders, as if he was on the deck of a ship.
"You had better not ask any more questions," whispered the attendant. "He may grow violent."
"We'll come again some other day," said Oliver Wadsworth, and then he and Dave withdrew.
"Mr. Wadsworth, do you think there is ​anything in this—I mean anything that concerns me?" asked the youth, when leaving the sanitarium.
"I am not prepared to say, Dave. It is at the least a curious happening. We must wait until the sailor's mind is clearer before we can question him again."
When Dave returned to Oak Hall he was very sober and thoughtful. It seemed to him that the baseball game had taken place a long time ago, and he could not settle down to his studies.
"Phil," he said to his friend, "your father has ships sailing to the South Seas. Do you know anything of Cavasa Island?"
"To be sure I do! That is to be one of my stopping places when I take my trip. It's not a very large place, but the town has quite a number of white people in it, and the shipping is considerable."
"What would you say if I should want to take that trip with you?"
"What, the trip to the South Seas?"
"Yes, to Cavasa Island, and to other ports in that vicinity."
"Do you really mean it, Dave?"
"Yes, if matters turn out as I think they may," was the answer. "Phil, can I trust you with a—a—something of a secret?"
"You know you can, Dave."
"Then I want to tell you something," was the ​answer, and sitting down, Dave told his chum of what had taken place during the visit to the sanitarium.
"That is certainly a mystery," said Phil. "I'd wait and see if this Billy Dill has anything more to say. I'm not going to leave just yet." And Dave did wait, and in the end learned so many wonderful things that he lost no time in preparing for the trip of thousands of miles over the deep blue sea. What happened on that trip will be related in another volume, to be entitled, "Dave Porter in the South Seas; or, The Strange Cruise of the Stormy Petrel." In this new volume we shall meet many of our old friends again, and learn what Dave did towards clearing up the mystery which surrounded his parentage.
Two days later the boys of dormitories No. 11 and No. 12 had a quiet celebration of their own. The monitor Murphy was let into the secret, and as Job Haskers was away on a visit to some relatives, nobody came to disturb them. The boys had all sorts of good things to eat, besides soda water and root beer, and two gallons of ice cream, smuggled into the rooms under the very nose of Pop Swingly, the janitor. Shadow Hamilton told some of his best stories, and one of the boys read a poem composed in honor of the baseball club's victory. At this celebration Chip Macklin was present and enjoyed it as much as anybody.
​"I'm glad I cut loose from Gus Plum and Nat Poole," said he to Dave. "I never want to have anything to do with them again."
"Nor I," added Dave. "They can go their way, and I'll go mine." But Dave was not to get rid of the bully and his aristocratic crony so easily, as later events proved.
The celebration was kept up until two o'clock in the morning. When it came to an end and all the boys were ready to retire, Roger stepped to a window which was partly open.
"What are you going to do?" asked Ben.
"Make a report of the proceedings," said Roger, and produced a big cannon cracker. "Got those matches, Dave?"
"Yes," answered Dave, and striking one, he lit the fuse of the cannon cracker. Then Roger hurled the cracker into the courtyard below—and all hopped into bed.
Bang! It was a tremendous report, and awoke every person in the building. Lights were lit, and windows were thrown up on all sides.
"What was that?"
"Has something blown up?"
So the questions were asked, but nobody could give an answer. An investigation was made, but nothing came of it. The boys kept quiet, and those in dormitories Nos. 11 and 12 looked as innocent as lambs.
​And so the victory and the celebration came to an end; and here let us leave Dave Porter, knowing full well that, no matter what might come in the future, never would he forget the days spent at Oak Hall.
THE END