"075 (B042) - The Gold Ogre (1939-05) - Lester Dent" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

There was no answer except his stricken wife's uncontrollable sobbing.
"Does Don know I was—was gone?" Thomas Worth asked.
"No. They kept it from him at the summer camp."
"It was very kind of them, because Don would have worried."
His wife's reaction to his fantastic tale had a distinct effect upon Thomas Worth. She was the one person in the world who was most likely to believe him. Obviously, she thought he was suffering hallucinations. What would the police think? He visualized himself committed to a mental institution, and broke out in an agonized sweat.
Thomas Worth thereafter refused to talk. Perhaps he was off mentally. Time after time, that suspicion had struck him during the course of his incredible experience. What was happening was something that couldn't happen. Thomas Worth realized that.
When the police came, Thomas Worth only muttered incoherently. The doctors explained that he was delirious from suffering, which was what he wanted them to think. He didn't tell them a thing about the little golden ogres. He was afraid to.
So the newspapers carried a short item, saying Thomas Worth had returned home, apparently suffering from exposure and a beating at the hands of persons unknown, probably enemies he had made in the course of his duties as a night watchman.
This item was clipped and found its way to Doc Savage's desk, where it was filed with the article about Thomas Worth's disappearance. And that was that. Nothing to arouse Doc Savage's interest.
It was unfortunate that Doc Savage saw nothing in the matter that required his attention, because the Man of Bronze, as the remarkable Doc Savage was known, might have prevented what happened next.
Thomas Worth disappeared again. There was absolutely nothing to show how or why. He just disappeared.
This time, the news was sent to the missing man's son, Don Worth.
Chapter II. FOUR FRIENDS
IT was doubtful if there existed a more pleasant summer camp for boys than Camp Indian-Laughs-And-Laughs. The camp was named after the cliff-bordered lake cove, on the shores of which it was situated. How the cove got the name was a mystery, but many an Indian brave probably laughed with delight when he first saw the snug cove in which great fish leaped all night long and the towering cliffs, and the little brooks that raced over the edge and fell sheer, turning into sparkling spray so that, during all hours when the sun shone, one could see at least one rainbow and often many, no matter in what part of the cove one stood.
Camp Indian-Laughs-And-Laughs was composed of a number of cabins and larger buildings, all made of logs, and surrounded by a stockade, after the fashion of forts in the frontier days. Picturesque was a word that hardly did the place justice. An array of birch-bark and canvas-covered canoes rested on racks along the lake shore.
The parents of boys who sent their sons to Camp Indian-Laughs-And-Laughs found it rather expensive. Consequently, there was a goodly number of sons of wealthy parents.
There were other boys, however, who worked their way through.
Don Worth was one of the working boys.
As yet, Don Worth had no inkling that anything mysterious had happened to his father, poor crippled Thomas Worth, who was airport night watchman in Crescent City.
Don Worth was at one of his tasks, chopping wood for the camp fireplaces.
His ax flashed, hissed and bit off great chips. He was almost a giant for his age—although still a youth, there were muscles cabled across his shoulders, and coiled inside his coat sleeves that made him more than a physical match for most fully grown men. Other boys were frequently amazed at big, quiet, serious Don Worth's muscular strength. He was a young Hercules.
Don Worth had a will power that was stronger than his big muscles, although you didn't realize that until you knew him well. He was a very gentle young man who never forced his ideas on anybody; also he was extremely ambitious. He was going to make a success in life, no matter how much earnest work it took. He got up early and went to work, and he labored industriously until dark, then usually could be found studying. Most busy bees were loafers compared to Don Worth.
Because he was so serious about life, Don Worth was kidded a lot. He took the razzing good-naturedly, and everybody liked him. Now and then some bully mistook his quiet seriousness for cowardice, so that Don Worth occasionally had a fight. The fight usually consisted of Don Worth's taking hold of the bully, and after he'd had hold for a moment or so, the opponent was invariably howling and glad for a chance to run.
The camp chief approached Don Worth and handed him a telegram. Don opened it and read:
SOMETHING I CANNOT UNDERSTAND HAS HAPPENED TO YOUR FATHER. HE DISAPPEARED, THEN CAME BACK LOOKING AS IF HE HAD BEEN TERRIBLY BEATEN. NOW HE HAS VANISHED AGAIN. TRY NOT TO WORRY.
YOUR MOTHER.
Don Worth was shocked and mystified.
"But this is the first I knew of anything wrong!" he exclaimed.
"I know," the camp chief said. "Your mother asked us to keep it from you at first, so you would not be worried."
The camp chief then handed Don Worth a sheaf of clippings from the Crescent City newspapers. Don read them, and began to get a feeling of deep bewilderment and uneasiness.
He went looking for B. Elmer Dexter.
He was not at all surprised when he found B. Elmer Dexter concocting a new get-rich-quick scheme.
B. ELMER DEXTER was about the same age as young Don Worth, and they were pals. They had just two things in common. Both owned poor parents, and both were determined to make a success—but B. Elmer Dexter had no intention of working for it. Work? Not for B. Elmer. Not while he had so many swell ideas for getting rich in a hurry.
B. Elmer was surrounded by sheets of paper, a borrowed typewriter, and enthusiasm.
"I'm writing letters to companies that make diving suits," he explained rapidly. "You know how many ships loaded with coal and iron ore have sunk in the Great Lakes? Dozens! Hundreds! I'm going to start salvaging them all. We'll raise the ships and get the cargo. We're young fellows, so the newspapers will play it up. Give us a lot of publicity. The companies will furnish us the diving suits free because of the publicity. Like companies furnished stuff to Admiral Byrd for his South Pole exploring. There's millions in it! Millions! And it won't cost us a cent! I'm gonna let you in on it, and Mental Byron, and Funny Tucker. We'll all make so much money that— Say, what's the matter with you?"
"Read this," Don Worth said, and passed over the telegram and the newspaper clippings.
B. Elmer Dexter read swiftly. He did everything swiftly. He was a slender fellow with dark hair, snapping eyes, more conversation than a radio announcer, and a personality that whizzed like an electric dynamo. He was almost completely the opposite of big, serious, placid Don Worth.
"Blazes!" said B. Elmer, waving the telegram. "What does this mean?"
"I do not know," Don replied seriously.
B. Elmer jumped up, waved the telegram and the clippings again.
"Let's see what Mental Byron thinks of it," he said. "Mental knows everything."
Don Worth nodded. The opinion of Morris (Mental) Byron would be worth while. Everybody respected Mental's brains and thinking powers.
They found Mental Byron, as they expected, seated comfortably against a boulder on the lake shore, cogitating. The boulder was his favorite spot, for it afforded one of the most inspirational and beautiful views around Camp Indian-Laughs-And-Laughs. Mental could sit for hours and contemplate something beautiful. He was a dreamer. And no mean philosopher, either.
"Hello," Mental said placidly.
No one had ever seen Mental any other way than calm.
He was a long youth with a rugged face—in fact, he looked remarkably like the picture of Abe Lincoln.
"We've got trouble," B. Elmer explained.
Mental Byron smiled slightly and said, "Don't be too worried when you stumble. Remember, a worm is the only thing that can't fall down."
Which was a typical piece of Morris Mental Byron's philosophy.
"Give the brains the telegram and clippings," B. Elmer told Don Worth, "and see what he thinks."