“Well, I won’t keep you,” the mine owner said quickly. “You ought to get something on it at once. Come around to the club and take dinner with me to-night about seven—bring your friends with you. The Reform Club, on Locust Street, you know. Good-by.”
With a wave of his hand, he disappeared into the crowd; and Dick hastened into the dressing room of the club.
A few minutes before seven o’clock that evening Dick drove the Wizard up to the entrance of the Reform Club, and slipping the plug into his pocket, alighted with his three friends.
In the reception hall an attendant came forward.
“Is Mr. Fairchilds here,” Dick inquired—“Mr. Orren Fairchilds?”
The man looked at him rather curiously.
“Are you Mr. Merriwell?” he asked.
Dick nodded.
“Kindly take the elevator to the third floor,” the attendant said quickly. “He asked that you be sent up directly you came. James!”
A page came forward, and the man said something to him in a low tone. Then he waved them toward the elevator, and in a moment they were whisked upstairs.