“Yes,” Dick said quickly. “That’s my name. Give it to me.”
He snatched the ominous yellow missive from the other’s hand, and tore it open in breathless haste. The boy saw his face pale suddenly, and heard him draw his breath swiftly as his eyes flew rapidly over the crowded lines on the single sheet. But experience had calloused him to such sights as these, and, eager to be gone, he drawled out:
“Any answer?”
“No,” Dick said, in a strange voice; “none.”
The boy departed, whistling carelessly, but Merriwell still stood on the stone steps, gazing blankly at the paper in his hand. Presently he drew one hand across his forehead in a bewildered manner.
“I can’t!” he breathed. “I could never do it in this world! What is he thinking of?”
He turned mechanically and went back to his room.
Dropping down in a chair, he spread the telegram out on his knee, and read it aloud.
“Arrested here on absurd charge. Cannot be tried until to-morrow. Put-up job to hold me, and ruin performance. You must take my part, and save play. Otherwise I shall be ruined. Jarvis is really you. If you can only learn the lines it will be all right. Business will take care of itself. Do this as you love me, Richard, and I shall be your debtor forever. Don’t tell a soul where I am. I can’t afford to have my name smirched, even by false charge.
Austin.”