“And in a week’s time without communication with the outside world a lot of Mr. Salper’s money will probably have gone up in smoke,” said Joe.
“Yes, it’s us on the job all right,” said Bob, looking a bit worried. “I only hope we can live up to what’s expected of us.”
“All right, boys,” said Mr. Salper, on returning, in his eyes the preoccupied look of the man of affairs. “If you can help me out of this fix, I will surely be deeply in your debt.”
These genial words—almost the first that they had heard from the self-absorbed man—warmed the boys’ hearts and they resolved to do the best they could for him, and, through him, for his daughters.
When they reached the station they found it deserted save for one man who sat at a desk, humped over in a dispirited fashion, reading a magazine.
At the entrance of Mr. Salper and the boys he looked up, then got up and came over to them as though he were glad of their companionship.
“How do you do, Mr. Salper?” he said, addressing the older man with marked respect. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Nothing, unless you can work this contrivance,” returned Mr. Salper, with a comprehensive wave of his hand toward the cluttered radio table.
“I’m sorry,” said the other, a frown of anxiety lining his forehead. “The operator is sick, and because of the heavy weather it is doubtful if we shall be able to secure another one within the week.”
“A week!” cried Mr. Salper. “That amount of time, my friend, may very easily spell ruin for me. It is necessary that I communicate with New York immediately. Are you ready, boys?”