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Re: My comment about AOL e-mail

"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 «ons 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.

Re: My comment about AOL e-mail

If I wanted to read a book, I'd join some girlie group like Ophra.
God Bless America, Bill O|||||||O
mailto:-------------------- http://www.----------.com/

"Shirley U. Jeste" <dontcallmeshirley@anytime.bud> wrote in message
news:Hcfli.108003$NV3.60419@pd7urf2no...
><snip wasted bandwidth>

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

Re: My comment about AOL e-mail

RoyJ wrote:
> Getting AOL off your computer is harder than getting rid of most trojans!
>
> Scott in Baltimore wrote:
>>> AOL is for rookies.
>>
>>
>> Friends don't let friends use AOL!

It's getting easier... AOL to pay $3M, reform cancel policies
http://tinyurl.com/28bupe

Steve

Re: My comment about AOL e-mail

> If I wanted to read a book, I'd join some girlie group like Ophra.
> God Bless America, Bill O|||||||O
> mailto:-------------------- http://www.----------.com/

Then do it; you desperately need some education.

Meanwhile, this will do, it's at a 4th grade level, not too far beyond
your ability:

THE HOUSE ON THE CLIFF
by FRANKLIN W. DIXON
No. 2 in the Hardy Boys series

"Where do we go from here?" he called out to the others. The two remaining
motorcycles came to a stop and the drivers mopped their brows while the
two other boys dismounted, glad of the chance to stretch their legs. One
of the cyclists, a boy of fifteen, fair, with light, curly hair, was Joe
Hardy, a brother of Frank's, and the other lad was Chet Morton, a chum of
the Hardy boys. The other youths were Jerry Gilroy and "Biff" Hooper,
typical, healthy American lads of high school age. "You're the leader,"
said Joe to his brother. "We'11 follow you." "I'd rather have it settled.
We've started out without any particular place to go. There's not much fun
just riding around the countryside." "I don't much care where we go, as
long as we keep on going," said Jerry. "We get a breeze as long as we're
traveling, but the mra-nte we stop I begin to sweat." Chet Morton gazed
along the shore road. "I'll tell you what we can do," he said suddenly. "
Let's go and visit the haunted house." "Polucca's place?"
•The Haunted House 3
"Sure. We've never been out therw." "I've passed it," Frank said. "But I
didn't go very close to the place, I'll tell you." Jerry Gilroy, who was a
newcomer to Bayport, looked puzzled. "Where is Polucca's place?"
"You can see it from here. Look," said Chet, taking him by the arm and
bringing him over to the side of the road. "See where the shore road dips,
away out near the end of Barmet Bay. Do you see that cliff?" "Yes.
There's a stone house at the top." "Well, that's Polucca's place."
"Who is Polucca?"
"Who was Polucca, you mean," interjected Frank. "He used to live there.
But he was murdered." "And that's why the place is supposed to be
haunted?" "Reason enough, isn't it?" said Biff Hooper. "I don't believe in
ghosts, but I'll tell the world there are some funny stories going around
about that house ever since Polucca was killed." "He must have been a
strange fellow, anyway," commented Jerry, "to build a house in such a
place as that." Indeed, the Polucca place had been built on an unusual
site. High above the waters of the bay it stood, built close to the edge
of a rocky 4 The House on the Cliff
and inhospitable cliff. It was some distance back from the road, and there
was no other house within miles. The boys had traveled a little more than
three miles since leaving Bayport, and the Polucca place was at least five
miles away. It could hardly have been seen, had it not been for its
prominent position on top of the cliff, silhouetted clearly against the
sky. "He was a strange fellow," Frank observed. "No one knew very much
about him. He didn't welcome visitors. In fact, he always kept a couple of
vicious dogs around the place, so nobody cared to hang around there if
they weren't invited." "He was a miser," came from Joe Hart/. "He may have
been. At least that was the theory. Everybody said Polucca had a lot of
money, but after his death there wasn't a nickel found in the house."
"Felix Polucca always said he wouldn't trust the banks," put in Biff
Hooper. "But if he had any money I don't know where he made it, for he
didn't work at anything and he mighty seldom came into the city." "Perhaps
he inherited it," Jerry suggested. "Maybe. He must have had money at some
time, to build that house. It's a great, rambling stone place that must
have cost thousands." 'The Haunted House 5
"Is anybody living there now?"*
The others shook their heads. "No one has lived there since the murder and
I don't think any one ever will," said Frank Hardy. "The house is too far
out of the way, for one thing, and then-the stories that have been going
around-" "Well, I won't say I believe any place is haunted, but the
Polucca place is certainly strange. There have been queer lights seen
there at night. On stormy nights, particularly. And once a motorist had a
breakdown near there, so he went up to the house for help. He didn't know
anything about the history of the place. He got the scare of his life!"
"What happened?"
"He decided when he went into the front yard that the place was deserted,
and he was just going to turn away when he saw an old man standing at one
of the upper windows, looking at him. He called out, and the old man went
away, and although the motorist hunted all through the house he didn't
find any trace of the old chap. So he left that place as quickly as he
could." "I don't blame him," remarked Jerry. "But the house sounds
interesting. I'm game to visit it." "So am I!" declared the others.
'' Lead on!" laughed Chet. " It '11 be a brave 6 llie House
on the Cliff
ghost that will tackle the whole five of us." Jerry clambered on behind
Chet, and Biff mounted Joe's motorcycle. The machines roared, and the
little cavalcade started on its way down the shore road toward the house
on the cliff. Instead of being an aimless trip, the outing had now assumed
all the aspects of an adventure. With the exception of Jerry, the boys had
all passed by the Polucca place at one time or another, but none had ever
ventured off the main road to explore the deserted place. The lane leading
into the Polucca grounds, never kept in good repair even during the
owner's lifetime, was now almost indiscernible and was overgrown with
weeds and bushes. The house itself was hidden from the roadway by trees.

[to be continued...]