Shirley U. Jeste

> YOU DON'T HAVE A
> CANADIAN CITIZENSHIP

Stop screaming, you hysterical little girlie, you're scaring the kids...

Now, Canada. It's my country; why would I /not/ have citizenship, bozeau?

> nor any pictures of Europe!

Now why on earth would I care what you choose to believe? I've got a ton
of pix, but so what? It's not a big deal, except to a small-time nobody
like you perhaps....

And I was correct about the Blarney Castle, which you did not acknowledge
as any man would.

But then you're really not a man, are you, little boy?

Shirley U. Jeste

> YOU DON'T HAVE A
> CANADIAN CITIZENSHIP

Stop screaming, you hysterical little girlie, you're scaring the kids...

Now, Canada. It's my country; why would I /not/ have citizenship, bozeau?

> nor any pictures of Europe!

Now why on earth would I care what you choose to believe? I've got a ton
of pix, but so what? It's not a big deal, except to a small-time nobody
like you perhaps....

And I was correct about the Blarney Castle, which you did not acknowledge
as any man would.

But then you're really not a man, are you, little boy?

Shirley U. Jeste

> YOU DON'T HAVE A
> CANADIAN CITIZENSHIP

Stop screaming, you hysterical little girlie, you're scaring the kids...

Now, Canada. It's my country; why would I /not/ have citizenship, bozeau?

> nor any pictures of Europe!

Now why on earth would I care what you choose to believe? I've got a ton
of pix, but so what? It's not a big deal, except to a small-time nobody
like you perhaps....

And I was correct about the Blarney Castle, which you did not acknowledge
as any man would.

But then you're really not a man, are you, little boy?

L.W. \(Bill\) Hughes III

This from the biggest loser of them all! The jealous, really jealous, I
can't believe how jealous this little draft dodging coward schizophrenic
psychopath liar hiding in Vancouver via S0106000ea6ba70e7.vn.shawcable.net
24.86.24.251 intrepidator@shaw.ca who's only way to get attention is to make
a fool of its self. With an obsession with perverts and goats, where it
writes via remailers, and cross posts to other perverts to no one's
surprise. With extreme jealous ranting over my documents, possessions,
successes, manliness and fine, Southern California surfing body, beard, and
loving family. Committing forgery over many of my posts, proving I'm a
responsible American man. You remind me of a little rat dog, like a Mexican
Chiwawa with its senseless barking, me too, me too. You're even more senile
than I first thought. And the poor thing, you're too girlie to take
responsibility for yourself again, by signing your statement like a man.
That really thinks the group's members are so stupid not to know it's
the same coward, posting over and over again using a schizophrenic
psychopath forged up names?
You're not worth any more time when a cut and paste this same
paragraphs it fits so well!
But, now worth a forwarding to: internet.help@shaw.ca,
security@shaw.ca, abuse@shaw.ca, internet.abuse@sjrb.ca, abuse@aioe.org,
admin@***.net for forgery.
Who said it also likes baby monkeys sucking their -----, like his buddy
posted on an auto picture group at:
news:0u7g43dkje4pdkqi07hl66s8kpifo564k1@4ax.com
I thought this traitor's attacks were just over personal disagreements,
but in reality these attacks stemming from my love of God and America on
Independents Week, I realized you are actually attacking my country, and
that's what you've been doing all along is declaring your hatred for the
United States of America, with each declaration of my signature, but just
too cowardly and stupid to be a ---------. It's America, love it, or leave
it, so keep the f*ck out!
Liar, you don't have a Canadian citizenship, either just like you never
applied for amnesty!
God Bless America, Bill O|||||||O
mailto:-------------------- http://www.----------.com/

"Shirley U. Jeste" <dontcallmeshirley@anytime.bud> wrote in message
news:k4dli.106535$xq1.2379@pd7urf1no...
>
> Stop screaming, you hysterical little girlie, you're scaring the kids...
>
> Now, Canada. It's my country; why would I /not/ have citizenship, bozeau?
>
> Now why on earth would I care what you choose to believe? I've got a ton
> of pix, but so what? It's not a big deal, except to a small-time nobody
> like you perhaps....
>
> And I was correct about the Blarney Castle, which you did not acknowledge
> as any man would.
>
> But then you're really not a man, are you, little boy?



--
Posted via a free Usenet account from http://www.teranews.com

L.W. \(Bill\) Hughes III

This from the biggest loser of them all! The jealous, really jealous, I
can't believe how jealous this little draft dodging coward schizophrenic
psychopath liar hiding in Vancouver via S0106000ea6ba70e7.vn.shawcable.net
24.86.24.251 intrepidator@shaw.ca who's only way to get attention is to make
a fool of its self. With an obsession with perverts and goats, where it
writes via remailers, and cross posts to other perverts to no one's
surprise. With extreme jealous ranting over my documents, possessions,
successes, manliness and fine, Southern California surfing body, beard, and
loving family. Committing forgery over many of my posts, proving I'm a
responsible American man. You remind me of a little rat dog, like a Mexican
Chiwawa with its senseless barking, me too, me too. You're even more senile
than I first thought. And the poor thing, you're too girlie to take
responsibility for yourself again, by signing your statement like a man.
That really thinks the group's members are so stupid not to know it's
the same coward, posting over and over again using a schizophrenic
psychopath forged up names?
You're not worth any more time when a cut and paste this same
paragraphs it fits so well!
But, now worth a forwarding to: internet.help@shaw.ca,
security@shaw.ca, abuse@shaw.ca, internet.abuse@sjrb.ca, abuse@aioe.org,
admin@***.net for forgery.
Who said it also likes baby monkeys sucking their -----, like his buddy
posted on an auto picture group at:
news:0u7g43dkje4pdkqi07hl66s8kpifo564k1@4ax.com
I thought this traitor's attacks were just over personal disagreements,
but in reality these attacks stemming from my love of God and America on
Independents Week, I realized you are actually attacking my country, and
that's what you've been doing all along is declaring your hatred for the
United States of America, with each declaration of my signature, but just
too cowardly and stupid to be a ---------. It's America, love it, or leave
it, so keep the f*ck out!
Liar, you don't have a Canadian citizenship, either just like you never
applied for amnesty!
God Bless America, Bill O|||||||O
mailto:-------------------- http://www.----------.com/

"Shirley U. Jeste" <dontcallmeshirley@anytime.bud> wrote in message
news:k4dli.106535$xq1.2379@pd7urf1no...
>
> Stop screaming, you hysterical little girlie, you're scaring the kids...
>
> Now, Canada. It's my country; why would I /not/ have citizenship, bozeau?
>
> Now why on earth would I care what you choose to believe? I've got a ton
> of pix, but so what? It's not a big deal, except to a small-time nobody
> like you perhaps....
>
> And I was correct about the Blarney Castle, which you did not acknowledge
> as any man would.
>
> But then you're really not a man, are you, little boy?



--
Posted via a free Usenet account from http://www.teranews.com

L.W. \(Bill\) Hughes III

This from the biggest loser of them all! The jealous, really jealous, I
can't believe how jealous this little draft dodging coward schizophrenic
psychopath liar hiding in Vancouver via S0106000ea6ba70e7.vn.shawcable.net
24.86.24.251 intrepidator@shaw.ca who's only way to get attention is to make
a fool of its self. With an obsession with perverts and goats, where it
writes via remailers, and cross posts to other perverts to no one's
surprise. With extreme jealous ranting over my documents, possessions,
successes, manliness and fine, Southern California surfing body, beard, and
loving family. Committing forgery over many of my posts, proving I'm a
responsible American man. You remind me of a little rat dog, like a Mexican
Chiwawa with its senseless barking, me too, me too. You're even more senile
than I first thought. And the poor thing, you're too girlie to take
responsibility for yourself again, by signing your statement like a man.
That really thinks the group's members are so stupid not to know it's
the same coward, posting over and over again using a schizophrenic
psychopath forged up names?
You're not worth any more time when a cut and paste this same
paragraphs it fits so well!
But, now worth a forwarding to: internet.help@shaw.ca,
security@shaw.ca, abuse@shaw.ca, internet.abuse@sjrb.ca, abuse@aioe.org,
admin@***.net for forgery.
Who said it also likes baby monkeys sucking their -----, like his buddy
posted on an auto picture group at:
news:0u7g43dkje4pdkqi07hl66s8kpifo564k1@4ax.com
I thought this traitor's attacks were just over personal disagreements,
but in reality these attacks stemming from my love of God and America on
Independents Week, I realized you are actually attacking my country, and
that's what you've been doing all along is declaring your hatred for the
United States of America, with each declaration of my signature, but just
too cowardly and stupid to be a ---------. It's America, love it, or leave
it, so keep the f*ck out!
Liar, you don't have a Canadian citizenship, either just like you never
applied for amnesty!
God Bless America, Bill O|||||||O
mailto:-------------------- http://www.----------.com/

"Shirley U. Jeste" <dontcallmeshirley@anytime.bud> wrote in message
news:k4dli.106535$xq1.2379@pd7urf1no...
>
> Stop screaming, you hysterical little girlie, you're scaring the kids...
>
> Now, Canada. It's my country; why would I /not/ have citizenship, bozeau?
>
> Now why on earth would I care what you choose to believe? I've got a ton
> of pix, but so what? It's not a big deal, except to a small-time nobody
> like you perhaps....
>
> And I was correct about the Blarney Castle, which you did not acknowledge
> as any man would.
>
> But then you're really not a man, are you, little boy?



--
Posted via a free Usenet account from http://www.teranews.com

L.W. \(Bill\) Hughes III

This from the biggest loser of them all! The jealous, really jealous, I
can't believe how jealous this little draft dodging coward schizophrenic
psychopath liar hiding in Vancouver via S0106000ea6ba70e7.vn.shawcable.net
24.86.24.251 intrepidator@shaw.ca who's only way to get attention is to make
a fool of its self. With an obsession with perverts and goats, where it
writes via remailers, and cross posts to other perverts to no one's
surprise. With extreme jealous ranting over my documents, possessions,
successes, manliness and fine, Southern California surfing body, beard, and
loving family. Committing forgery over many of my posts, proving I'm a
responsible American man. You remind me of a little rat dog, like a Mexican
Chiwawa with its senseless barking, me too, me too. You're even more senile
than I first thought. And the poor thing, you're too girlie to take
responsibility for yourself again, by signing your statement like a man.
That really thinks the group's members are so stupid not to know it's
the same coward, posting over and over again using a schizophrenic
psychopath forged up names?
You're not worth any more time when a cut and paste this same
paragraphs it fits so well!
But, now worth a forwarding to: internet.help@shaw.ca,
security@shaw.ca, abuse@shaw.ca, internet.abuse@sjrb.ca, abuse@aioe.org,
admin@***.net for forgery.
Who said it also likes baby monkeys sucking their -----, like his buddy
posted on an auto picture group at:
news:0u7g43dkje4pdkqi07hl66s8kpifo564k1@4ax.com
I thought this traitor's attacks were just over personal disagreements,
but in reality these attacks stemming from my love of God and America on
Independents Week, I realized you are actually attacking my country, and
that's what you've been doing all along is declaring your hatred for the
United States of America, with each declaration of my signature, but just
too cowardly and stupid to be a ---------. It's America, love it, or leave
it, so keep the f*ck out!
Liar, you don't have a Canadian citizenship, either just like you never
applied for amnesty!
God Bless America, Bill O|||||||O
mailto:-------------------- http://www.----------.com/

"Shirley U. Jeste" <dontcallmeshirley@anytime.bud> wrote in message
news:k4dli.106535$xq1.2379@pd7urf1no...
>
> Stop screaming, you hysterical little girlie, you're scaring the kids...
>
> Now, Canada. It's my country; why would I /not/ have citizenship, bozeau?
>
> Now why on earth would I care what you choose to believe? I've got a ton
> of pix, but so what? It's not a big deal, except to a small-time nobody
> like you perhaps....
>
> And I was correct about the Blarney Castle, which you did not acknowledge
> as any man would.
>
> But then you're really not a man, are you, little boy?



--
Posted via a free Usenet account from http://www.teranews.com

Shirley U. Jeste

"After the help we gave dad on that forgery case I guess he'll begin to
think we could be detectives when we grow up." "Why shouldn't we? Isn't he
one of the most famous detectives in the country? And aren't we his sons?
If the profession was good enough for him to follow it should be good
enough for us." Two bright-eyed boys on motorcycles were speeding along a
shore road in the sunshine of a morning in spring. It was Saturday and
they were enjoying a holiday from the Bayport high school. The day was
ideal for a motorcycle trip and the lads were combining business with
pleasure by going on an errand to a near-by village for their father. The
older of the two boys was a tall, dark youth, about sixteen years of age.
His name was Frank Hardy. The other boy, his companion on the motorcycle
trip, was his brother Joe, a year younger. While there was a certain
resemblance between the two lads, chiefly in the firm yet good-humored
expression of their mouths, in some respects they differed greatly in
appearance. While Frank was dark, with straight, black hair and brown
eyes, his brother was pink-cheeked, with fair, curly hair and blue eyes.
These were the Hardy boys, sons of Fenton Hardy, an internationally famous
detective who had made a name for himself in the years he had spent on the
New York police force and who was now, at the age of forty, handling his
own practice. The Hardy family lived in Bayport, a city of about fifty
thousand inhabitants, located on Barmet Bay, three miles in from the
Atlantic, and here the Hardy boys attended high school and dreamed of the
days when they, too, should be detectives like their father. As they sped
along the narrow shore road, with the waves breaking on the rocks far
below, they discussed their chances of winning over their parents to
agreement with their ambition to follow in the footsteps of their father.
Like most boys, they speculated frequently on the occupation they should
follow when they grew up, and it had always seemed to them that nothing
offered so many possibilities of adventure The Speed Demon 3
and excitement as the career of a detective. "But whenever we mention it
to dad he just laughs at us," said Joe Hardy. "Tells us to wait until
we're through school and then we can think about being detectives." "Well,
at least he's more encouraging than mother," remarked Frank. "She comes
out plump and plain and says she wants one of us to be a doctor and the
other a lawyer." "What a fine lawyer either of us would make I" sniffed
Joe. "Or a doctor, either I We were both cut out to be detectives and dad
knows it." "As I was saying, the help we gave him in that forgery case
proves it. He didn't say much, but I'll bet he's been thinking a lot." "Of
course we didn't actually do very much in that case," Joe pointed out.
"But we suggested something that led to a clue, didn't we? That's as much
a part of detective work as anything else. Dad himself ad mitted he would
never have thought of examin ing the city tax receipts for that forged
signa ture. It was just a lucky idea on our part, but it proved to him
that we can use our heads for something more than to hang our hats on."
"Oh, I guess he's convinced all right. Once we get out of school he'll
probably give his permission. Why, this is a good sign right now, Isn't
it? He asked us to deliver these papers I The Tower Treasure
for him in Willowville. He's letting us help him." "I'd rather get in on a
real, good mystery,'*' said Frank. "It's all right to help dad, but if
there's no more excitement in it than delivering papers I'd rather start
in studying to be a lawyer and be done with it." "Never mind, Frank,"
comforted his brother. "We may get a mystery all of our own to solve some
day." "If we do we'll show that Fenton Hardy's Ťons are worthy of his
name. Oh boy, but what wouldn't I give to be as famous as dad! Why, some
of the biggest cases in the country are turned over to him. That forgery
case, for instance. Fifty thousand dollars had been stolen right from
under the noses of the city officials and all the auditors and city
detectives and private detectives they called in had to admit that it was
too deep for them." "Then they called in dad and he cleared it up in three
days. Once he got suspicious of that slick bookkeeper whom nobody had been
suspecting at all, it was all over but the shouting. Got a confession out
of him and everything." "It was smooth work. I'm glad our suggestion
helped him. The case certainly got a lot of attention in the papers." "And
here we are," said Joe, "plugging along the shore road on a measly little
errand The Speed Demon $
to deliver some legal papers at Willowville. I'd rather be on the track of
some diamond thieves or smugglers-or something." , "Well, we have to be
satisfied, I suppose,*y replied Frank, leaning farther over the
handlebars. "Perhaps dad may give us a chance on a real case some time."
"Some time! I want to be on a real case now!" The motorcycles roared along
the narrow road that skirted the bay. An embankment of tumbled rocks and
boulders sloped steeply to the water below, and on the other side of the
road was a steep cliff. The roadway itself was narrow, although it was
wide enough to permit two cars to meet and pass, and it wound about in
frequent curves and turnings. It was a road that was not often traveled,
for Willowville was only a small village and this shore road was an
offshoot of the main highways to the north and the west. The Hardy boys
dropped their discussion of the probability that some day they would be
come detectives, and for a while they rode on in silence, occupied with
the difficulties of keeping to the road. For the road at this point was
dangerous, very rough and rutty, and it sloped sharply upward so that the
embankment leading to the ocean far below became steeper anol steeper. <?
The Tower Treasure
**I shouldn't want to go over the edge aroTmfl here," remarked Frank, as
he glanced down the mgged slope. "It's a hundred-foot drop. You'd be
smashed to pieces before you ever hit the! shore." "I'll say! It's best to
stay in close to the cliff. These curves are bad medicine." The
motorcycles took the next curve neatly, and then the boys confronted a
long, steep slope. The rocky cliffs frowned on one side, and the
embankment jutted far down to the tumbling waves below, so that the road
was a mere ribbon before them. "Once we get to the top of the hill well be
all right. It's all smooth sailing from there to Willowville," remarked
Frank, as the motorcycles commenced the climb.


>>
>> And I was correct about the Blarney Castle, which you did not
>> acknowledge as any man would.

Shirley U. Jeste

"After the help we gave dad on that forgery case I guess he'll begin to
think we could be detectives when we grow up." "Why shouldn't we? Isn't he
one of the most famous detectives in the country? And aren't we his sons?
If the profession was good enough for him to follow it should be good
enough for us." Two bright-eyed boys on motorcycles were speeding along a
shore road in the sunshine of a morning in spring. It was Saturday and
they were enjoying a holiday from the Bayport high school. The day was
ideal for a motorcycle trip and the lads were combining business with
pleasure by going on an errand to a near-by village for their father. The
older of the two boys was a tall, dark youth, about sixteen years of age.
His name was Frank Hardy. The other boy, his companion on the motorcycle
trip, was his brother Joe, a year younger. While there was a certain
resemblance between the two lads, chiefly in the firm yet good-humored
expression of their mouths, in some respects they differed greatly in
appearance. While Frank was dark, with straight, black hair and brown
eyes, his brother was pink-cheeked, with fair, curly hair and blue eyes.
These were the Hardy boys, sons of Fenton Hardy, an internationally famous
detective who had made a name for himself in the years he had spent on the
New York police force and who was now, at the age of forty, handling his
own practice. The Hardy family lived in Bayport, a city of about fifty
thousand inhabitants, located on Barmet Bay, three miles in from the
Atlantic, and here the Hardy boys attended high school and dreamed of the
days when they, too, should be detectives like their father. As they sped
along the narrow shore road, with the waves breaking on the rocks far
below, they discussed their chances of winning over their parents to
agreement with their ambition to follow in the footsteps of their father.
Like most boys, they speculated frequently on the occupation they should
follow when they grew up, and it had always seemed to them that nothing
offered so many possibilities of adventure The Speed Demon 3
and excitement as the career of a detective. "But whenever we mention it
to dad he just laughs at us," said Joe Hardy. "Tells us to wait until
we're through school and then we can think about being detectives." "Well,
at least he's more encouraging than mother," remarked Frank. "She comes
out plump and plain and says she wants one of us to be a doctor and the
other a lawyer." "What a fine lawyer either of us would make I" sniffed
Joe. "Or a doctor, either I We were both cut out to be detectives and dad
knows it." "As I was saying, the help we gave him in that forgery case
proves it. He didn't say much, but I'll bet he's been thinking a lot." "Of
course we didn't actually do very much in that case," Joe pointed out.
"But we suggested something that led to a clue, didn't we? That's as much
a part of detective work as anything else. Dad himself ad mitted he would
never have thought of examin ing the city tax receipts for that forged
signa ture. It was just a lucky idea on our part, but it proved to him
that we can use our heads for something more than to hang our hats on."
"Oh, I guess he's convinced all right. Once we get out of school he'll
probably give his permission. Why, this is a good sign right now, Isn't
it? He asked us to deliver these papers I The Tower Treasure
for him in Willowville. He's letting us help him." "I'd rather get in on a
real, good mystery,'*' said Frank. "It's all right to help dad, but if
there's no more excitement in it than delivering papers I'd rather start
in studying to be a lawyer and be done with it." "Never mind, Frank,"
comforted his brother. "We may get a mystery all of our own to solve some
day." "If we do we'll show that Fenton Hardy's Ťons are worthy of his
name. Oh boy, but what wouldn't I give to be as famous as dad! Why, some
of the biggest cases in the country are turned over to him. That forgery
case, for instance. Fifty thousand dollars had been stolen right from
under the noses of the city officials and all the auditors and city
detectives and private detectives they called in had to admit that it was
too deep for them." "Then they called in dad and he cleared it up in three
days. Once he got suspicious of that slick bookkeeper whom nobody had been
suspecting at all, it was all over but the shouting. Got a confession out
of him and everything." "It was smooth work. I'm glad our suggestion
helped him. The case certainly got a lot of attention in the papers." "And
here we are," said Joe, "plugging along the shore road on a measly little
errand The Speed Demon $
to deliver some legal papers at Willowville. I'd rather be on the track of
some diamond thieves or smugglers-or something." , "Well, we have to be
satisfied, I suppose,*y replied Frank, leaning farther over the
handlebars. "Perhaps dad may give us a chance on a real case some time."
"Some time! I want to be on a real case now!" The motorcycles roared along
the narrow road that skirted the bay. An embankment of tumbled rocks and
boulders sloped steeply to the water below, and on the other side of the
road was a steep cliff. The roadway itself was narrow, although it was
wide enough to permit two cars to meet and pass, and it wound about in
frequent curves and turnings. It was a road that was not often traveled,
for Willowville was only a small village and this shore road was an
offshoot of the main highways to the north and the west. The Hardy boys
dropped their discussion of the probability that some day they would be
come detectives, and for a while they rode on in silence, occupied with
the difficulties of keeping to the road. For the road at this point was
dangerous, very rough and rutty, and it sloped sharply upward so that the
embankment leading to the ocean far below became steeper anol steeper. <?
The Tower Treasure
**I shouldn't want to go over the edge aroTmfl here," remarked Frank, as
he glanced down the mgged slope. "It's a hundred-foot drop. You'd be
smashed to pieces before you ever hit the! shore." "I'll say! It's best to
stay in close to the cliff. These curves are bad medicine." The
motorcycles took the next curve neatly, and then the boys confronted a
long, steep slope. The rocky cliffs frowned on one side, and the
embankment jutted far down to the tumbling waves below, so that the road
was a mere ribbon before them. "Once we get to the top of the hill well be
all right. It's all smooth sailing from there to Willowville," remarked
Frank, as the motorcycles commenced the climb.


>>
>> And I was correct about the Blarney Castle, which you did not
>> acknowledge as any man would.

Shirley U. Jeste

"After the help we gave dad on that forgery case I guess he'll begin to
think we could be detectives when we grow up." "Why shouldn't we? Isn't he
one of the most famous detectives in the country? And aren't we his sons?
If the profession was good enough for him to follow it should be good
enough for us." Two bright-eyed boys on motorcycles were speeding along a
shore road in the sunshine of a morning in spring. It was Saturday and
they were enjoying a holiday from the Bayport high school. The day was
ideal for a motorcycle trip and the lads were combining business with
pleasure by going on an errand to a near-by village for their father. The
older of the two boys was a tall, dark youth, about sixteen years of age.
His name was Frank Hardy. The other boy, his companion on the motorcycle
trip, was his brother Joe, a year younger. While there was a certain
resemblance between the two lads, chiefly in the firm yet good-humored
expression of their mouths, in some respects they differed greatly in
appearance. While Frank was dark, with straight, black hair and brown
eyes, his brother was pink-cheeked, with fair, curly hair and blue eyes.
These were the Hardy boys, sons of Fenton Hardy, an internationally famous
detective who had made a name for himself in the years he had spent on the
New York police force and who was now, at the age of forty, handling his
own practice. The Hardy family lived in Bayport, a city of about fifty
thousand inhabitants, located on Barmet Bay, three miles in from the
Atlantic, and here the Hardy boys attended high school and dreamed of the
days when they, too, should be detectives like their father. As they sped
along the narrow shore road, with the waves breaking on the rocks far
below, they discussed their chances of winning over their parents to
agreement with their ambition to follow in the footsteps of their father.
Like most boys, they speculated frequently on the occupation they should
follow when they grew up, and it had always seemed to them that nothing
offered so many possibilities of adventure The Speed Demon 3
and excitement as the career of a detective. "But whenever we mention it
to dad he just laughs at us," said Joe Hardy. "Tells us to wait until
we're through school and then we can think about being detectives." "Well,
at least he's more encouraging than mother," remarked Frank. "She comes
out plump and plain and says she wants one of us to be a doctor and the
other a lawyer." "What a fine lawyer either of us would make I" sniffed
Joe. "Or a doctor, either I We were both cut out to be detectives and dad
knows it." "As I was saying, the help we gave him in that forgery case
proves it. He didn't say much, but I'll bet he's been thinking a lot." "Of
course we didn't actually do very much in that case," Joe pointed out.
"But we suggested something that led to a clue, didn't we? That's as much
a part of detective work as anything else. Dad himself ad mitted he would
never have thought of examin ing the city tax receipts for that forged
signa ture. It was just a lucky idea on our part, but it proved to him
that we can use our heads for something more than to hang our hats on."
"Oh, I guess he's convinced all right. Once we get out of school he'll
probably give his permission. Why, this is a good sign right now, Isn't
it? He asked us to deliver these papers I The Tower Treasure
for him in Willowville. He's letting us help him." "I'd rather get in on a
real, good mystery,'*' said Frank. "It's all right to help dad, but if
there's no more excitement in it than delivering papers I'd rather start
in studying to be a lawyer and be done with it." "Never mind, Frank,"
comforted his brother. "We may get a mystery all of our own to solve some
day." "If we do we'll show that Fenton Hardy's Ťons are worthy of his
name. Oh boy, but what wouldn't I give to be as famous as dad! Why, some
of the biggest cases in the country are turned over to him. That forgery
case, for instance. Fifty thousand dollars had been stolen right from
under the noses of the city officials and all the auditors and city
detectives and private detectives they called in had to admit that it was
too deep for them." "Then they called in dad and he cleared it up in three
days. Once he got suspicious of that slick bookkeeper whom nobody had been
suspecting at all, it was all over but the shouting. Got a confession out
of him and everything." "It was smooth work. I'm glad our suggestion
helped him. The case certainly got a lot of attention in the papers." "And
here we are," said Joe, "plugging along the shore road on a measly little
errand The Speed Demon $
to deliver some legal papers at Willowville. I'd rather be on the track of
some diamond thieves or smugglers-or something." , "Well, we have to be
satisfied, I suppose,*y replied Frank, leaning farther over the
handlebars. "Perhaps dad may give us a chance on a real case some time."
"Some time! I want to be on a real case now!" The motorcycles roared along
the narrow road that skirted the bay. An embankment of tumbled rocks and
boulders sloped steeply to the water below, and on the other side of the
road was a steep cliff. The roadway itself was narrow, although it was
wide enough to permit two cars to meet and pass, and it wound about in
frequent curves and turnings. It was a road that was not often traveled,
for Willowville was only a small village and this shore road was an
offshoot of the main highways to the north and the west. The Hardy boys
dropped their discussion of the probability that some day they would be
come detectives, and for a while they rode on in silence, occupied with
the difficulties of keeping to the road. For the road at this point was
dangerous, very rough and rutty, and it sloped sharply upward so that the
embankment leading to the ocean far below became steeper anol steeper. <?
The Tower Treasure
**I shouldn't want to go over the edge aroTmfl here," remarked Frank, as
he glanced down the mgged slope. "It's a hundred-foot drop. You'd be
smashed to pieces before you ever hit the! shore." "I'll say! It's best to
stay in close to the cliff. These curves are bad medicine." The
motorcycles took the next curve neatly, and then the boys confronted a
long, steep slope. The rocky cliffs frowned on one side, and the
embankment jutted far down to the tumbling waves below, so that the road
was a mere ribbon before them. "Once we get to the top of the hill well be
all right. It's all smooth sailing from there to Willowville," remarked
Frank, as the motorcycles commenced the climb.


>>
>> And I was correct about the Blarney Castle, which you did not
>> acknowledge as any man would.